


Half Man Half God

by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror



Series: When I watch the world burn (all I think about is you) [3]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: A Bit Not Good, Addams Family Levels of Violence, Aftermath of Torture, Case Fic, Hurt Endeavour Morse, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jakes is a saint, Kidnapping, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Protective Fred Thursday, The Thursdays Adopt Endeavour Morse, how is that even a tag, i love it, someone chain morse to his desk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 55,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24741034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror/pseuds/Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror
Summary: A series of murders leaves the Cowley team baffled. Unable to find the killer, it turns to an attempt of finding a pattern to stop the kidnappings and eventual killings. But will it be too little to late before the killer strikes too close to home?
Relationships: Peter Jakes/Endeavour Morse
Series: When I watch the world burn (all I think about is you) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772587
Comments: 162
Kudos: 93





	1. Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Wow welcome to my first case fic! Hope you enjoy the rollercoaster of angsty hurt comfort that's to come (Im a terrible person with terrible plans)

9th March

“Endeavour Morse, I swear if you don’t start hanging your suits up, I’m going to kill you.” Jakes shouted loud enough so Morse could hear him from the bathroom.

It had been three months and a tiger since they started seeing each other and over that time things from their flats seemed to have found a home in the other’s, Morse even managed to sneak some (a lot) of books into Jakes’ flat.

Jakes had also got a second-hand record player from the market so Morse could listen to his, not so terrible, opera that Jakes had begun to grow to. Not that he’d ever admit it. There was something comforting about coming home to the sound of opera, it meant Morse was home.

Plus, Jakes would often use the music to lure him into the kitchen to eat real meals. Even Strange had commented on how much healthier he was looking. ‘you must have found a good un’ matey’ is what he’d said to him one day, Jakes had silently smirked behind them, cheeks reddening slightly.

It went unspoken that they spent almost every night in each other’s company, often alternating who’s flat they stayed in. Usually by the time they’d come off shift it was a case of going home, getting a bite to eat, sleeping, and going back to work. They didn’t mind though, it worked for them. The only annoyance was making their way to and from the station separately.

Jakes still held up his side at work, lying about some bird he’d come across at the weekend to the guys he’d gossip with in the office, but Morse didn’t mind. He knew it was for the best. He stopped teasing him though, which Thursday put down to a mutual acceptance. Though, he did continue to remind Morse that he comes up with the most ridiculous, outlandish ideas that couldn’t possibly be true (which usually end in being so).

“And hurry up! Other people need to use the bathroom you know.”

He heard the door open before Morse’s head poked out. “Coming from you who spends most of the morning in the bathroom! I take five minutes at the most.” Morse moaned, plodding to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, finding his suit hung up.

Morse left his flat 10 minutes before Peter, leaving the keys on the side. He couldn’t remember why Peter didn’t have his own yet, it would have made things much easier instead of constantly passing them to-and-fro between each other.

He got a quick update on the night shift before signing out the Jag, purring to life from the twist of keys in the ignition. He would never not enjoy driving the car to Thursday’s.

“Much in?” Came the daily question as Thursday closed the passenger door.

“A body’s been found up by Port Meadow, DeBryn’s apparently at the scene.”

“Alright then.” Thursday paused, frowning, “new aftershave?”

Damn Thursday’s observance. Morse was in such a rush in the bathroom he must have picked up the wrong soap.

Morse just nodded, turning slightly red. He hoped to drop the conversation before a comment like “smells familiar” could be made.

Thursday raised an eyebrow. “Trying to impress a girl?”

Of course, he would think that, especially since it was quite a potent masculine scent. Morse simply rolled his eyes before Thursday started updating him on the football. Morse tuned out.

They arrived 15 minutes later, parking up on the road opposite the riverside meadow to find Strange and Jakes looking around the area.

“Any news?” Thursday asked Jakes who’d came to meet them by the car.

“Faith Wilson, 37, reported missing two days ago.” Jakes explained, leading them to the body.

It was odd. The meadow seemed like a beautiful idealism. The great open space, greenery stretched out in all directions, covered with long wildflowers beneath the blue skies. Birds chirped in the distant trees, unaware of the death that didn’t even seem to hang a weight in the nature. But Morse could feel it. The dark death looming as they neared the body.

DeBryn stood up upon seeing the detectives walking over. “Gentlemen”

“Doctor” Thursday replied.

The woman was in her early forties by the looks of things, she was lying flat on her back, in a pale blue dress that stopped just above the knee with her legs straight out in front of her and hands resting on a bouquet of flowers on her stomach. Her long brown hair didn’t have a strand out of place, resting perfectly on her shoulders. 

Morse frowned. Someone had taken their time with that.

“Died sometime between midnight and 3am. Looks like starvation and possible asphyxia. I found this in her mouth.” He handed a silk handkerchief to Thursday.

“Any chance she did it to herself?” Thursday asked, looking over the handkerchief.

“Unlikely, Inspector, since she’s been tied by the wrists and ankles for, what looks like, days.”

He frowned, reading the embroidery. “Matthew 5:32.”

He looked to Morse whose eyes were flickering at the sky in thought. “But I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife except for marital unfaithfulness causes her to become an adulteress.”

“It fits, Faith was divorced recently, ex-husband was the one to call it in.” Jakes added.

“I’ll be able to tell you more after the post-mortem, shall we say 2 o’clock?” DeBryn said through his glasses, before packing up his bag.

“Know anything on family? Friends?” Thursday asked.

“Ex-husband reported her missing, nothing else to go on in regard to family.” Jakes responded, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket.

“Right then, let’s see if we can’t get hold of this ex-husband. Jakes you go to her house, see what you can find.”

“Reckon it was him” Jakes declared through puffs of smoke, walking back to the car. “Ex-husband with a grudge, reported her missing to cover his own back then did away with her.”

“Somehow I don’t think it’s that simple.” Thursday said shortly, before getting back into the Jag.

Morse hid his smile.

* * *

It was simple enough tracking the man down since he’d not only left his address but a work and home telephone number. Hardly the move of a man planning to kill his ex-wife, Morse thought.

The address showed them to a quaint semidetached town house in the Oxford suburbs. Morse followed Thursday to the doorstep where he quickly knocked on the grand red door.

It was less than a thirty seconds before a middle-aged man pulled the door open. He was a few inches taller than Morse with cropped brown hair and a clean-shaven face, wearing a v neck blue sweater over a striped shirt.

“Mr Wilson?”

The man – Mr Wilson – nods.

“DCI Fred Thursday and detective constable Morse, Oxford City Police, can we come in?”

Mr Wilson’s eyes widened, clearly already fearing the worst. “Of course.” he stuttered out, showing them into a light, tall ceilinged room. There were photographs of the couple scattered across most of the surfaces in the, Morse presumed, living room. For a divorced couple that was odd, Morse noted.

“Is it about Faith? Have you found her?” He quickly asked.

Morse looked to Thursday, letting him take the lead. “You might want to sit down, sir” He said solemnly.

“Oh god.” Is all the man said before almost falling back into the plush sofa. 

“I’m afraid to inform you Faith was found dead this morning in Port Meadow.”

Mr Wilson sat hunched over, staring at his hands. “H-how?”

“Initial reports say starvation, but we’ll know more soon.”

He shot them a look through his glassy eyes. “Starved? What do you mean starved?” He asked in disbelief.

Thursday cleared his throat. “That’s what the pathologist says was the likely cause, there didn’t seem to be other injuries.”

Mr. Wilson lowered his head, letting out a silent sob.

“Do you know of anyone that might wish to cause Faith harm?” Thursday asked after a moment.

He looked up, shocked. “No. No. She was the sort of person that got along with everyone.”

“How long were you married to Faith?” Morse asked, looking at one of the photos on the coffee table between the two sofas. The photograph pictured a younger looking Faith and Jack Wilson in front of a sandy beach, she was smiling at the camera whilst he was looking down to her with a Cheshire cat grin.

“Almost five years.” He replied dully.

“And how long ago is it since your divorce, Mr Wilson?” Morse added without missing a beat.

“Just over a month.” He muttered.

“Mutual arrangement was it?” Came from Thursday.

The man sat for a moment. “Not really. I was happy but she said she wasn’t anymore, that she felt like I was holding her back.”

They stood silent for a moment, watching Jack rub his hands over his wet face.

“Do you know if she’s been seeing someone else since then?” Morse added, which rewarded him a scolding look from Mr Wilson.

“No. She wouldn’t do that, so soon after the…”

Morse gave Thursday a doubtful look. It wouldn’t surprise him if she’d chosen not to disclose those kind of details with her ex-husband.

“How did you know she was missing?” Thursday asked curiously. It was often a few days before people were found to be missing, especially those who lived alone.

“She wasn’t at church that morning. She never misses the Sunday service.”

“Could have felt under the weather?”

“She never missed a service, no matter how ill, but stopped by her house to check and she wasn’t there.” He sounded almost defensive through the broken words.

Morse jotted the details down quickly.

Thursday sighed. The man was a state, which made Thursday uncomfortable to keep asking questions, insensitive or not. “Well, thank you for your time Mr Wilson. We’re very sorry for your loss.”

They let themselves out, wandering back to the car. “Let’s hope sergeant Jakes has had more luck than us.”

* * *

“Anything?” Thursday asked, going to put his hat and coat on the stand by his office door.

Jakes rose, following him into the office. “Not a lot, place seems clear. I found a dairy though, says she planned to have lunch with an ‘Abigail Thorne’ the day of her disappearance.”

Thursday sat back into the chair that seemed to mould perfectly to his form, lighting his pipe. “You find any contact details for her?”

“Yeah, she has a list of contacts in the back of the book.” Jakes replied, sounding quite happy with himself.

“Right, well, see if you can track her down and get any information on anyone she could have been seeing, or if she had plans that weren’t included in the diary and what not.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jakes replied before turning on his heels, closing the door behind him.

Morse was sat at his desk with some of Faiths personal effects in front of him. He was frowning at the diary entries, twisting a pen through his hair as he thought.

Jakes took a quick look around the office, making sure there weren’t any prying eyes.

“Hey.” He muttered, fishing the key out of his trouser pocket, holding it out to Morse under the desk.

Morse looked to his hand before meeting his eyes. “Oh, urm, no its fine. You can keep it if you want. Makes sense really.” Morse flashed a quick smile before returning to the diary.

Jakes blinked. He was giving him a key to his flat? His home? A warm feeling spread over him, in awe of the man. How did Morse do these things so casually? He brushed these kind of things off in the middle of the nick like it was nothing, but to Jakes, it was everything.

He finally took a breath; aware Morse had looked back to him with a ‘ _you’re lingering too long’_ look. He slipped the key back into his pocket. “Ugh, thanks.”

He held back the urge to grab him by the tie and kiss him in front of the whole station, doing his best to walk away from Morse like he hadn’t irreversibly given him a key into his life.

* * *

“Inspector, Morse.” DeBryn greeted them as they stopped in front of the examination table, now carrying Faith’s body covered in nothing but a white sheet.

“As suspected, starvation. Doesn’t appear to have eaten or moved for at least three days. There’s a small head would to the back of the skull, enough to deem her unconscious I’d say.”

Thursday raised his eyebrow, taking in the information.

DeBryn lifted her right wrist, showing the bruising around the distinct lack of skin, looking like it was almost worn to the bone. “There’s rope fibres to the wrists and her ankles which were bound together, obvious signs of struggle. There’s also traces of splinters on the back of her legs and arms.”

“Splinters?” Morse repeated.

“Yes, from wood. Likely tied to it.”

Morse had a heavy feeling about this. A woman bound for days before starving to death didn’t sit right. This wasn’t just a random quick murder. There was thought and technique put into this… this torture.

“Any uhm…”

DeBryn raised his eyebrow. “No, Inspector. No signs of sexual activity.”

“Anything from the handkerchief?” Morse added in.

“Forensics said it was clean, no fingerprints.”

Thursday sighed. They had nothing to go on.

* * *

“Miss Thorne?” Jakes asked the woman who appeared in the open doorway.

“Yes?” the short red-haired woman responded. She appeared to be a few years younger than Faith, however that could be because she’d powdered her face to and used a strong line of black eye liner to emphasise her features. If she were a bird at a pub a few years back Jakes wouldn’t have wasted any time in offering her a drink.

“Detective Sergeant Jakes, Oxford City Police. Can I come in?”

“Please.” She said, leading him into her lounge. “What’s this about?”

“I’m afraid to have to tell you the body of Faith Wilson was found this morning.”

Her eyes darkened. “Dead? No, surely not. I saw her only the other day! What was it? a car accident or something?”

“Appears to be starvation, I’m afraid.” It was easier to stay ‘stabbed’ or ‘shot’ Jakes pondered. Starved sounded sinister, unspoken connotations of torture looming over it.

“Oh god…”

Jakes sighed. “I’m sorry for your loss Miss Thorne. I came here because Faith had planned to see you the day of her disappearance.”

“God, I didn’t even know she was missing! Its only been a few days since I last saw her. Are you sure its her? Maybe there’s some mistake?”

“Afraid not, miss, there’s been a formal identification.” He paused for a moment. “I was wondering if you could answer some questions about Faith?”

She nodded, sitting on the opposite sofa.

“How long have you known Faith?”

“Oh, we go back a few years now, met at church when I moved to the area.”

“Would you consider yourself close to Faith?”

“Yes, yes, we met almost weekly for lunch and I’d always see her at service.” She pulled out a tissue from her skirt pocket, lightly dabbing under her eyes.

“And how was Faith when you last saw her? Did she seem out of sorts? worried?”

“No, not at all, she seemed happy. Happier now she wasn’t with Jack anymore.”

Jakes frowned at the way she bit out his name. “Not fond of him?”

She sighed. “Truth is, he was giving her grief after the divorce. It put stress on her. He’d drop by at all hours, asking to talk. That man was one step away from a restraining order in my books.” She said shortly.

Jakes frowned. Maybe his first suspicions were right. “Do you know why they got a divorce?”

“He was suffocating her, he wanted to go everywhere with her, spend every minute with her. The man was obsessed!”

“Do you think he was capable of harming her?”

She looked to him, stunned by the question. “No. I’m pretty sure of that. He loved her, all too much I feel. I don’t think he could lay a finger on her.” She replied thoughtfully.

Jakes frowned again. “Do you know if she’s been seeing anyone since the divorce?”

“No, she never mentioned anyone. Think she was just enjoying being alone after being cooped up for so long.”

“Okay, thank you for your time Miss Thorne, we’ll be in touch if we think of any more questions.”

* * *

It was almost five o’clock before Jakes got back to the station to update Thursday and Morse on what he’d learnt from Abigail.

“She told her to get a restraining order?” Morse repeated in disbelief.

“Apparently. Says he was going round at all hours trying to speak with her.”

“Sounds like it’ll be worth paying Mr Wilson another visit tomorrow. Go home and get some rest. Think tomorrows going to be a long one.”

Morse nodded, scooping his thin jacket under his arm. It frustrated him it felt like they’d gotten nowhere. No closer to finding who did it. No closer to finding if it was going to happen again.

* * *

Morse ended up leaving first, whilst Jakes got caught up with some PCs he often went to the pub with.

The killer clearly resented divorce, that was obvious from the bible quote. But who if the husband was too besotted to hurt her? Unless it was someone random, a secret admirer maybe. But still, killing someone because of a divorce seemed ridiculous if that was the motive. It just didn’t make sense.

He finally got home, throwing his coat over the armchair and finding his way into the fridge for a bottle of beer.

He heard the door go; half a bottle in. The fact Peter didn’t have to knock anymore made him smile.

Peter rounded the corner, finding Morse leaning against a counter with his beer. “Wotcher.” He said casually, before not so casually closing the distance between then and pulling Morse tie first into a strong kiss.

Morse pulled back for air, “Nice to see you too, Peter. What brought that on?” He asked breathlessly, still close enough to feel the heat from Jakes.

Jakes smiled, lacing his finger through Morse’s curls before settling at the back of his head. “You gave me a key to your house.”

Morse frowned. “Yeah? I mean it makes sense if you think about it, means you don’t have to wait up to open the door for me when I’m late and…” He stopped rambling, noticing Jakes’ wolfish grin.

“I love you.” He said with an edge of sincerity that made Morse shiver. He smiled, pulling Morse in for another kiss. He could be such an idiot sometimes.


	2. Say Amen

Jakes didn’t sleep well that night. He tossed and turned fitfully trying to find comfort in a bed that felt like it was made purely from springs, only ever stopping when Morse stirred slightly.

He watched Morse sleep for a while. The slithers of streetlights etched through the curtains and left a light line over Morse’s face, taking comfort in his peaceful state.

The case had got to him already. It was horrid. Barbaric. And hit too close to the skeletons he’d locked so tightly away.

Too many times in his childhood had he wondered when his next meal would be, going from home to home. He knew what it was like to be hungry. _Really_ hungry. He’d never wish it on anyone.

But he knew Morse understood too.

He couldn’t push the memories of conversations with him out of his head. On a few drunk occasions where Morse had one glass too many he’d slurred out stories of his childhood, how he’d do anything and everything to wind Gwen up, how he’d only started listening to opera and reading poetry because it apparently infuriated the woman. He’d spoken about how she’d lock him in his room and leave him there for almost a whole weekend for punishment. How sometimes they’d only have enough money to buy a small amount of food after his father had successfully gambled the weeks budget on a half beat horse. How Gwen would tell him he’d have to do without dinner because there was only enough for her and Joyce. The worst part was Morse was grateful it was him who went without, that Joycie had a full meal in her belly.

It hurt like hell when he told him, even though Jakes was drunk himself when Morse would tell him these stories but they sobered him up like a hard smack to the face. Morse didn’t know it of course. To him it was drunk ramblings, presuming Peter wasn’t even listening. To Peter it was a small insight to his past, even if it was horrible to hear about, he wanted to know.

He thought one day he’d ask him about it sober, really ask him. There were many a time where he’d slipped a casual question into conversations and Morse had actively flinched. Peter wasn’t one to push though. He had enough of his own skeletons to know how hard it was to open up the closet. It just felt Morse’s was padlocked shut.

Often, he’d wonder if he’d have told Morse about his past, if it hadn’t all been dug up, mound by horrid mound, in the Blenheim Vale case. He remembered that night well unfortunately, even in the state he was in. He didn’t want to see anyone. Didn’t want to see the pity in his colleagues eyes as they learnt the truth about him. But Morse hadn’t looked at him with pity or shame. He looked like he’d seen right into the dark pits of his past, nodded, accepted, and carried on with maybe more respect for him. That’s when he first realised, he loved him.

He hated the amount of times he’d joked that Morse looked like he was going to starve to death in the years before he knew anything past the arrogant prick he took him for. And now it stung. The case lingering over him made him feel sick. He wrapped a protective arm around Morse as he slept, subconsciously leaning into his touch.

In the morning, he was making Morse the biggest fry up he could manage.

* * *

If there was one thing Morse hated more than anything, it was his alarm. The deafening shrill that woke him harshly every morning without fail. He’d often considered getting a new one with a less jarring tone perhaps, but he knew he’d learn to hate that one too.

He threw his arm out lazily to the bedside table, turning the alarm off without even opening his eyes.

He let out a groan as he turned over, reaching out a hand to touch Peter. Only he wasn’t there. Morse quickly opened his eyes, confused at the cold side of the bed. Morse frowned, thinking. They hadn’t been called in early and Peter never got out of bed unless he had to, it often took Morse to forcibly roll him out every morning.

Then he smelt the saltiness of bacon in the air and the low sizzling of a frying pan.

Furrowing his eyebrows further, he slipped out of bed wondering to the kitchen. “Peter?”

Peter was stood with his back to him, turning over the bacon in the frying pan. His flannel trousers fitted perfectly whilst his vest clung to his chest. It was much less modest than Morse’s loose-fitting pyjamas that he’d owned for god knows how many years.

“Ah you’re awake!” Jakes turned with a grin. “How do you like your eggs, dear?” He mocked.

Morse rolled his eyes, “What’s all this?”

Jakes shrugged. “Just thought I’d treat you to a real breakfast, you know? How longs it been since your last proper fry up?”

Morse stared blankly. In truth Morse wasn’t one to eat much breakfast, or much of anything really. Eating was just a necessity Morse pushed aside, forgotten.

“Exactly, so eat up. Thursday said today’s gonna’ be a long one.” He said, plating out eggs, bacon, sausages, toast, and beans.

Morse took a plate, willing himself to build an appetite. Peter always seemed to cook too much for him, and after cooking for him almost every night he thought he’d have learnt by now. he wasn’t sure if it was Peter's way to get him to eat bigger portions but in truth it was slightly off putting.

“Thanks, Peter.” He said squeezing his arm as he slipped onto one the kitchen seats.

Peter took the seat opposite, wasting no time digging into his breakfast.

“Mine tonight? I could do with putting a wash on.” Jakes said with a mouthful, in the most domestic way ever.

Morse smiled, chewing on his food. “Yeah sure, if we get home at all tonight.” He joked lightly, but deep down they knew it was a possibility, especially if another body turns up. Hopefully, it was open and shut, no more bodies, arrest the obsessive ex-husband and get home for an early night.

* * *

One part was right, there wasn’t another body, which was always a good thing.

Morse was already at his desk by the time Thursday had come in. He’d got Strange to pick him up since breakfast took longer than expected and he knew Strange wouldn’t mind since he was always early to his shift.

“Morse.” He said walking by into his office. Morse quickly followed him in.

“Sir.”

“Me and Strange are going to go to the church Faith went to, see what we can find.” He paused to light his pipe. “You and Jakes are to go and pay another visit the ex-husband. Don’t hold back, he isn’t as innocent as he’s acting.”

“Sir.”

* * *

“What are your views on divorce, Mr Wilson?” Morse cut straight to the point. It had been toying on his mind for a while.

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Well, I don’t exactly hold to most positive views on it after everything. What do you expect?” The man already seemed defensive and they arrived not five minutes ago.

“What did you think about it before your own? Some Christians view it as breaking their vows.”

“Careful, constable.” Wilson almost growled in a low voice.

Jakes flashed Morse a look but he seemed unphased.

He took a long breath. “No, I don’t think of it as a sin, if that’s what you’re asking. It would be very old fashioned to see it that way.”

“Not a strict Christian then?” Jakes interjected.

“Strict? no, but a close follower.” Jack’s defensive tone was back. He took a long sip of his coffee, almost theatrically.

“Do you know of anyone at the church who is?” The killer clearly had some biblical ties, however if he were a devout Christian, surely, he wouldn’t go against the very clear commandment of ‘Though shalt not kill’? Morse couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Mr Wilson frowned. “I mean there’s always a few that take it word for word, but… what’s this all about? What does it matter? Do you think someone from the church did it?”

“It’s too soon to say, Sir, but Faith was left with a bible note which referred to the sins of divorce, so it’s important if you know of anyone that may believe it.”

“Michael and Eileen are strong Christians, but they surely couldn’t be behind this. Too far up their own back sides to bother with anyone else.” He added bitterly. “Don’t even think they know our names. We’ve never spoken, keep themselves to themselves.”

Morse made a note of their names anyways.

Jakes decided to address the next point, seeing the previous had come to an end. “We’ve heard you didn’t take the divorce well, Mr Wilson. Some have mentioned you’ve almost taken to harassment.”

“Ha! That’s from Abigail I bet. That little…” The knuckles holding his mug whitened.

“So, you deny it? That you would go to her house at least once a day to see her? Even though she made it clear she didn’t want to see you?” Jakes pushed.

Morse gave Jakes a look. The look of ‘ _you’re pinning this on him without giving him a chance_ ’ but Jakes looked back to Jack.

“It wasn’t like that! I had things to discuss with her and she was being unreasonable.”

“What things exactly, hm? Doesn’t sound unreasonable to me. Sounds like harassment plain and simple. Decided to take things into your own hands after she refused to see you, did you?”

Jack slammed his mug down. “No! No. Get out of my house!” He shouted at Jakes, quickly rising from his chair, fists clenched.

Jakes rose too giving him a cold look. For a good detective, he certainly wasn’t helping the situation. Luckily, he stormed out before he made any other comments.

Morse held his hands up. “I’m sorry, he can push harder than he means to sometimes.”

“Copper needs to watch his damn mouth.” He muttered, falling back onto the sofa.

Morse bit his tongue. _Don’t speak about Peter in that way you arsehole_ is what he so desperately wanted to retort but he couldn’t. Instead he nodded and carried on after giving Jack a moment to collect himself.

“How often would you see Faith after the divorce?” He asked calmly, trying to simmer out the tension that hung between them.

“I don’t know, few times a week, mostly at services.” The man still seemed on edge.

“And how often would you go to her house?” His voice was lower than usual in an attempt for it to be taken less accusingly than Jakes had managed.

The man clenched his fists again. “I don’t know. Every now and then. I was worried! It’s been a while since she’d lived alone, I didn’t know if she was coping.”

“If you were coping you, you mean?”

“Sorry?”

“It just seems she was alright about the arrangement. You were the one going to her after all.”

“I’m her husband! I was concerned!”

“You _were_.” Morse corrected. “I understand you’d be worried.”

Jack scoffed. For an upper-class business owner, he wasn’t taking the interview professionally. Or just well in general. Morse felt on edge that he was left alone with a man who looked like he was about to blow a fuse.

Morse took in a nervous breath, knowing what he had to ask. “Sir, its routine to ask, but… has there ever been any physical violence between the two of you?”

“You asking if I ever hurt her? No! How could you ask something like that? God, I never could…” it occurred to Morse though, that he was the sort of person that turned his sadness and annoyance into rage.

“I was only wondering because there were apparently suggestions of getting a restraint.”

“This is Abigail isn’t it? Pinning all this shit on me? How can you take her word over her husbands?!”

“You aren’t her husband, Mr Wilson.”

He moved faster than Morse registered, knocking over the coffee table in pursuit of Morse who sat dumbstruck on the sofa. He grabbed him by the collar and planted a strong punch to the side of Morse’s face. Morse was initially surprised at the force before the pain set in. He didn’t seem like a muscular kind of guy.

He met Jacks eyes in shock. He could tell he was annoyed, but this?

The man recoiled, shocked by his own actions. “Shit. Shit I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

Morse rose quickly, holding the side of his face. He had no choice on what happened next.

“Jack Wilson I’m arresting you for the aggravated assault of a police officer. You don’t have to say anything but anything you do say may be written down and can be given in evidence against you.” He explained plainly, holding the man’s wrists behind his back and walking him out of the house.

Jack’s pent up anger seemed to have dissipated as he walked him towards the car.

He could see Jakes leaning against the driver’s door, smoking a fag whilst completely oblivious to what had transpired since he’d stormed out.

“Jakes, grab the cuffs.” Morse called.

Jakes threw the cigarette to the ground, smirking as he went for the handcuffs. He knew he was bloody right.

He turned around before they reached the car and saw the black eye. “Morse?” his eyes were impossibly wide, scanning him for any other injuries.

Wordlessly he took the cuffs from Jakes and put the taller man ungracefully in the back of the Jag, slamming the door behind him.

“What the hell, Morse?” He heard immediately behind him.

He turned to Jakes like he was about to reach out to his yellowing purple eye.

“What happened?” Jakes had to restrain himself from dragging the bastard out of the car and giving him a taste of his own medicine.

Morse laughed. “You’d know if you hadn’t let your mouth run away with you.”

“Did he do it?” Jakes asked quickly. _Surely_ this must show he was guilty.

“No, but what he did do was assault an officer which is a start.”

“Shit, Morse. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help…”

“Save it.” Morse spat. He didn’t need his apologies. He needed him to be there and he wasn’t.

“Morse…”

“Don’t.” he rounded the car, getting into the passenger side. Thursday wasn’t going to be happy.

* * *

The bruising wasn’t anything terrible, which Morse was grateful for. Specks of purple and blue surrounded the skin under and to the side of his eye, but it was still noticeable.

“And where exactly were you when this happened?” Thursday growled, gesturing to Morse’s face.

“I ugh – was outside.” Jakes responded, rigid in spot as he stood. It wasn’t a lie, but it certainly wasn’t the whole truth and Morse wasn’t going to drop him in it.

“And you thought it appropriate to leave your subordinate alone with him?”

Morse didn’t appreciate being treated like he wasn’t part of a conversation that was about, and in front of, him. “Sir-“

“No.” Thursday snapped. “I’m speaking to sergeant Jakes.”

Morse slumped back into the chair by Thursday’s desk, hoping it would swallow him up.

“Look, he got annoyed, I pushed a bit too hard and he told me to leave, alright?”

“You’re the superior, Jakes. You need to learn to control yourself before I see you unfit for your rank.” Thursday blurted out, masked in annoyance at the state of his bagman. He wasn’t sure if he meant it though. Thursday knew Jakes deserved the sergeants.

“Yes, Sir.” He said before hurrying out.

“You alright, Morse?” He asked, sitting down at his desk.

Morse nodded awkwardly. “Yes, fine. Looks worse than it feels.”

Thursday nodded. “Well, it seems Jakes might be right after all. The man’s clearly has a short temper.”

Morse shook his head. A short fuse, yes, but killing his ex-wife? He couldn’t see it somehow.

“Me and Strange are going to question him later, if its all the same. Don’t think he’d react well to seeing this.” He said, looking to his eye.

Morse shrugged. He was probably right.

“We got a list of regular attendees of the church and if they were acquainted with Faith. Do you feel up to it? We have their addresses.”

Morse nodded. “I can do it.” He said, taking the paper off Thursday.

“Mind how you go.”

* * *

Fortunately, most of the people on the list lived in the same neighbourhood, so it only took a few hours to get around most of the people on the list.

He felt no closer to knowing who could have done it though. Everyone he spoke to had good alibis for the day of her disappearance and the days running up to her death, the ones who knew her didn’t have a bad word to say about her. Most of them were married couples and families. Only the odd one lived alone but they were elderly and didn’t give a murderous vibe to even Morse, who could find something suspicious in a saints sock drawer. He was at a loss.

Part of him wanted to believe it was Jack. It would settle the bad feeling in his stomach at least. Make him feel Oxford was slightly safer with another killer behind bars but he couldn’t, even if he did have the motive and no strong alibi.

Morse continued his rounds, driving out to the people that lived slightly further away from the church.

_Did you know Faith well?_

_How had she seemed when you last saw her?_

_How did Mr Wilson seem to you since their divorce?_

_Where were you on the days leading up to 9 th March? _

He felt like a broken record, asking the same things over and over but getting no further to finding the truth of what happened.

If it weren’t for the abnormally large breakfast, he’d have felt dead on his feet by now. Breakfast, however, felt like years ago. He also didn’t much want to think about Peter right now, still slightly annoyed at him for losing his temper and leaving him with Wilson before.

* * *

He got back to the station just after seven, dropping into his seat to look over his notes. 

Thursday, Jakes and Strange were in the DI’s office, but Morse didn’t care to interrupt. He had no information to share with them after his waste of an afternoon.

They came out a few minutes later, Jakes carrying a sly grin. “We’re charging him tomorrow.” He declared, leaning on the edge of his desk.

Morse frowned. “He confess?”

“No but he’s as guilty as a man can get.” He said adamantly.

“That guy has a hidden temper, no wonder he got riled up earlier, matey.” Strange added. “Would have lost it with us if he wasn’t cuffed to the table.”

“Couldn’t he just be upset over the loss of Faith? He clearly still loved her.” Morse thought out loud.

“Since when were you on his side?” Jakes cut in

Morse shrugged. “I’m just saying, I don’t think he was capable. I think Abigail was right.”

“Of course you do.” Jakes muttered, rewarding him a scowl from Morse.

“Look, matey, he has a very strong motive, even if he doesn’t admit it. He has no alibi that can be supported and he has a damn bad temper on him. Its not looking good for him.”

“Well, its not what I expected, I admit. Not surprised though.” Thursday spoke, emerging from his office.

“We’ll call it a day. Morse, tomorrow if you could get started on the car thefts again?”

Morse raised his eyebrow. “But sir, there’s still a few people I haven’t spoken to on the list.”

“I’m sure Strange or Jakes can handle it.”

Morse shrugged and nodded, unwillingly accepting.

“Run me back, will you?” Thursday more or less demands, walking past him. Morse obliges.

“Look, Morse I know you don’t agree but the evidence is all there.” Thursday said getting in the Jag.

“But where did he keep her? Why would he report her missing? I don’t think he’s capable of restraining her until she starves to death, do you?”

Thursday gave him a doubtful look. “We’re sending a team to his house tomorrow, he could have been keeping her in the basement, a closet perhaps.”

Morse didn’t respond, keeping his eyes on the road.

“You want to stay for dinner? Wins been asking after you, she’d be happy to see you.” He said, pretending he didn’t want to make sure he’s alright himself. It hadn’t been the easiest day for Morse.

Morse contemplated for a moment before accepting. He didn’t want to see Peter just yet.

* * *

“Home!”

“Ah Fred, Morse! What on earth happened to you?” She asked, folding him into a hug.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Morse replied awkwardly.

“Staying for tea, dear?” She asked brightly, choosing not to push the lad further. Work's left at the hall stand.

“That he is, pet. Ill set another place.” Thursday answered for him, wandering off.

Morse smiled at their willingness to take him in. “Do you need any help, Mrs Thursday?”

“None of that, dear, it’s Win. And no, you just sit yourself down. I’m about to bring the stew through.”

Joan and Sam were already sat at the table, bickering between themselves.

“Morse!” Joan said surprised, “you never said he, was coming, dad?” she said straightening her hair and correcting her posture awkwardly.

“Didn’t realise you needed warning? Besides, you needn’t make an impression, Morse has a girl.”

Morse blushed, looking down.

“Really? Who?”

 _Your father’s detective sergeant_ Morse was dying to say. But he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to lose his job.

“No one, really.”

“Well, I think it’s lovely you’ve found someone. You’ll have to bring them round one day.” Win said, placing a large dish in the middle of the table.

Morse had to hold his tongue. Something inside him was willing him to laugh at them and tell them how wrong they were.

“What, for dad to interrogate them?” Sam added, scooping a large portion onto his plate.

“Reckon it’d be worse than Sam bringing a girl home.” Joan teased.

Thursday tutted. “Let the man eat, Joan.”

Morse reddened and took a mouthful of food, grateful for Thursday changing the topic.

* * *

He drove over to Peters flat after turning down a drink as ‘he had things he needed to attend to’, not elaborating the point to Thursday.

He took a breath and knocked on the door.

It swung open in the matter of seconds, revealing a worried looking Peter. “Morse? Where the hell have you been? I went to your flat, but you weren’t there.” He blurted out, not moving aside.

Morse shrugged. “Had dinner at Thursdays.”

Jakes huffed. “Of course, you did.” He said walking away from the door.

Morse slipped in, locking the door behind him.

“I was worried.” He said quietly, folding his arms across his chest whilst he lent on the arm of the sofa.

“You needn’t bother. I was fine.”

Jakes shook his head. “I didn’t know what to think, after today…”

Morse wouldn’t meet his eyes. He was incapable of keeping a grudge at the best of times, let alone with Peter. He knew as soon as he looked at him his annoyance would soak away.

“I’m sorry, Endeavour. Really.” He moved closer to Morse, taking a hand. “Will you look at me?”

And that was it. All of his negative emotions disappeared. The concern in Jakes’ eyes made him forget about everything, even the snide comments he’d made that evening.

Peter traced his fingers lightly over the side of his eye. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”

“Its fine.”

“It's not fine. I should have been there for you. Should have been there to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection.” Morse cut in.

“Really? Your face is saying something different.” Jakes replied curtly before sighing. “I just hate seeing you hurt.” 

“It’s fine, Peter. Can we just forget about today?” Morse asked sounding deflated.

“Sure. Yeah.”

“I just want to go to bed, if it's all the same.”

“Of course.” He followed Morse to his bedroom. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, just been a long day.” Morse said simply, shrugging off his jacket.

“How was Thursday’s?”

Morse laughed. “Interrogated me on my new girl.”

Jakes laughed too. “I can only imagine how you took that.” He hung Morse’s suit up, watching the man slip into bed.

“They told me to bring you round one evening.” Morse said, trying to keep a straight face.

“Oh wonderful, I was wondering when I’d be introduced to your surrogate parents.” Jakes teased, landing a kiss on Morse’s forehead.

“They are no such thing.” He said defiantly, but deep down he enjoyed the concept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully got carried away writing this chapter sorry if it sounds a bit everywhere lol but I quite enjoyed writing Jakes and the Thursdays dinner
> 
> As always I'd be forever grateful for comments and feedback! :))


	3. One step forwards, two steps back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another body's been found, Morse cant wrap his head around it

True to Thursday’s word Mr Wilson was convicted two days after the death of his ex-wife. A house search found a basement capable of keeping someone in as well as wood lumber, no DNA was found but there often wasn’t in these kind of cases.

Morse still didn’t agree with it. Every basement had spare bits of wood in, surely? It wasn’t enough to arrest a man by any means, but he’d been taken off the case. He was now back on the car thefts which also seemed to be a dead end.

He couldn’t shift the unsettled feeling in his stomach.

* * *

17th March

It had been an awfully long day for Morse. Oxford seemed to have settled into a peaceful silence for the last few days. No new cases, missing persons, the only thing was the bloody random car thefts. It felt like the calm before a storm.

Morse was ready leave to at five o’clock on the dot, since he was up to date on all his reports, even the extra ones Jakes had thrown his way. There was no reason for him to stay past his shift, which was a rarity.

And then five minutes before the end of his shift, the phone rang.

“Morse.” He answered in his usual tone.

“Alight matey, body’s been found up by Hutchcomb's Copse. DeBryn’s been notified.”

Morse sighed. So much for an early finish.

* * *

He drove alone to the woods; Thursday had already signed out and Jakes was on a half day due to the distinct lack of things to do.

The feeling in his stomach was back.

Strange met him once he parked the Jag by the side of the woods.

“Do we know who it is?” He asked Strange as he showed him the way to the body.

They were wandering down a secluded forest path, the spring greenery was almost overgrown on the trail, kicking past nettles and other plants as they walked.

“Afraid not. No ID on the vic, no missing persons. Dog walker found the body, called it in about four thirty.”

Morse frowned unhappily, before laying eyes on the body and he knew why he felt so unsettled.

Just like last time. Only the woman was younger and blonder.

In a slight opening on the path laid a girl in a pale blue dress, hair perfectly placed, hands resting over a perfectly picked bouquet of flowers.

He held back his inner thoughts of ‘I knew it wasn’t Jack’ because the truth was worse. The killer was still out there, and he wasn’t stopping.

DeBryn was still hovering over the girls body. “Died 12 to 16 hours ago from the looks of things. Livor mortis suggests she was upright when she died and for a long while after. Lividity also indicates her arms were held out from the body. You can see the discolouration on the lower side of her arms.”

Morse turned away, taking a breath. The blood may have still been inside her, but it was almost as bad as a bloody, gory body. Blood should be circulating, unseen to the eye. Not pooled at the ends of limbs. Her feet and ankles were swollen with it, turning them a sickening dark purple.

“Do we know the cause?” He already knew of course.

“Starvation, it seems. Likely dehydration first.”

Morse swore internally. A murderer with such barbaric and unknown motives scared him more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t just murder; it was days of torture before their organs one by one shut down.

“No bible reference? Handkerchiefs?”

DeBryn shook his head. “Not that I’ve found.”

“Ill see you tomorrow for the post-mortem, shall we say 10am?” DeBryn asked, picking up his case.

He called Thursday when he returned to the car, but he knew there wasn’t anything he could do at this time of evening. There was nothing to go on, no one to question, not even a name they could start with.

_‘go home, get some sleep and pick me up at 8am sharp. We’ll take it head on tomorrow’_

_‘hopefully, someone will report a missing person soon.’_

He could only agree with Thursday. Without knowing who it was it would be impossible trying to figure anything out. If no one came forward to claim the woman they’d have to send out posters. Surely someone must be missing her.

* * *

He let himself into his empty flat, not acknowledging the lack of Peter. Subconsciously he noted He often went to the pub quiz with the ‘lads from work’ on a Tuesday.

Subliminally, he took a whiskey bottle and tumbler from the living room shelf and poured a generous amount.

Brain food, he called it.

He mused for a while before taking a sip, letting the amber liquid swirl around the glass as he held it in his hand.

Why had they kept her upright once she was dead? Unless they didn’t know when she died, leaving her for god knows how long before checking if she’d passed. The only thing Morse knew for sure was the killer was positively insane, and after his last run in with a psychopath he wasn’t too keen on meeting another.

He’d put a record on at some point, not that he remembered doing it, too deep in thought to notice.

Nor did he notice Peter coming in later on.

He was staring intently at the spinning record before Peter intruded his sight, making him blink out of his trance.

“Morse. Hey.” Jakes said slowly, taking the glass out of his hand. “How much you had to drink?”

Morse shrugged; he had no idea. He didn’t know what time it was, unable to think about anything but the now unsolved case. “There’s been another.”

“What?” He was halfway between disbelief and just being unable to hear the mans whisper over the music.

He quickly reached to the arm, taking it off the record delicately. God help him if he ever damaged Morse’s prize possession.

“There’s been another. It wasn’t Jack.” He repeated.

“What? When?” Jakes was still crouching in front of Morse, hands steadying him on Morse’s knees.

“After four. It’s the same, Peter. It wasn’t Jack.”

“How can you be sure?”

“It was the exact same circumstances as Faith, just younger and blonde. Starved. Just like last time.” His words were slightly slurred.

“Shit. Do we know who it is?”

Morse just shook his head, taking his glass back from the side and finishing it in one.

“Hey, think you’ve had enough of that.” Jakes said, rising and taking the bottle away.

“Time is it?”

“Just after eleven. Stayed a little longer than usual at the pub, one of the guys just got engaged.”

Morse hummed. He still wondered if Peter wanted that too, even if he feverishly denied it.

“Come on, bed.”

Morse didn’t have the energy to argue.

* * *

They still didn’t know the girls identity ahead of the post-mortem. It felt wrong cutting up someone without even knowing their name.

Morse watched uneasily, more so than usual.

“Dehydration more likely than starvation… and as the organs of the body start to fail: delirium, madness, one can only pray her heart gave out first.”

Morse swallowed thickly.

“Her arms were left out to the sides for around 12 hours after death. Like the previous body, the wrists and ankles were tied to what I assume is wood given the splintering. There’s also a gash to the back of the head, a stronger blow than last time but the same trajectory, likely the same instrument used on Mrs Wilson.”

“She’d also had at least one abortion recently. Very professional job by the looks of things.” DeBryn continued, “We ran the clothes for fingerprints but came up clear. We did find this, however, stitched into the dress seems.”

He handed the garment to Morse, reading the faultless embroidery. “Proverbs 13:21”

“Why stitched? Why not a handkerchief again?” Thursday wondered out loud whilst Morse wracked his head.

“Evil pursues sinners but to the righteous, good shall be repaid.”

“The abortion, perhaps?”

“Hard to tell when we hardly know anything about her.” Morse grumbled miserably.

* * *

It was after midday when a Mr Rigby called the station about a missing tenant.

The flat was only a few miles from Mrs Wilson’s house, on the outskirts of south Oxford. There was a small, well fed man perching on the steps to the Victorian manner – come flat block when they arrived.

“She was late with rent. The door was unlocked when I knocked, I saw the blood and…” Mr Rigby explained, going up two flights of stairs.

The landlord showed the four detectives to her room. “Charity Iverson her name is” His accent had a slight cockney twist to it.

Morse considered their names a coincidence, but he didn’t quite believe it was.

It was a good sized flat, the main room was an open plan lounge and kitchen, decorated in a neutral cream paint with flower patterned wallpaper on the chimney breast. The place was mostly tidy other than stacks of magazines and other papers on the coffee table and the blood stands on the wooden floor, some found its way to the red rug encircled under the coffee table adjacent to the sofa.

“Do you know if she had a partner? Anyone close we can speak to?” Morse asked, looking through the papers, conscious not to step on the blood stains.

Mr Rigby laughed. “Plenty of partners from what I’ve heard, can’t imagine they know her well though. Usually only last a night.” He stood by the front door; arms crossed watching the detectives cautiously moving around the flat.

Morse gave Thursday a thoughtful look. Maybe the proverb was referencing adultery? Possibly even prostitution, Morse thought to himself.

“Don’t suppose she has an emergency contact? A guarantor for the letting perhaps?” Thursday asked, looking to the slightly plump man.

“Ah, yeah might have a number somewhere. Ill go see if I can find her contract files.” He said wondering off back down the stairs, Strange followed.

“Has Mr Wilson been released yet?” Morse pondered as he looked through Charity’s belongings.

“Not yet, can’t say it wasn’t him. Might not have been acting alone, this could have been his partner or something.” Thursday said simply before wondering off into the bedroom.

Morse didn’t respond. He knew it could be a possibility, albeit a slim one.

Her flat didn’t tell them much. She didn’t keep a diary. Kept most event plans on a notice board in her cluttered kitchenette. There were multiple leaflets for church events, however not the same one as Faith.

“Going after lassies at church then? Ones who’ve ‘sinned’ at least.” Jakes asked after not contributing much to the flat search.

“Could be.” Thursday said coming back to the front room. “Found a contacts book by the phone but it doesn’t have many names in it, one seems to be a family member though, Richard Iverson.”

“Father or a brother?” Jakes queried.

“Likely, There’s an address too. You and Morse should go and see if you can run him down, see what you can find. Me and Strange will finish up here.” Thursday told Jakes, following them down the stairs to find Strange.

* * *

Richard turned out to be Charity’s brother, a seemingly light-hearted man who lived alone in a small cottage a few miles west of Charity’s flat. He reminded Morse of a bubblier version of Dr DeBryn, same build, and slightly mismatched colourful suit with a jumper underneath the jacket, just without the trademark bow tie and larger glasses with a thin silver frame.

He’d insisted they’d call him Rich or Richard after ‘no Mr Iverson is much too formal, makes me seem older than my age.’ He’d said, winking at Morse that made him feel even more awkward than normal, if possible.

He’d then asked their names, Jakes offered Peter, but Morse stuck to ‘Just Morse’ much to Richards disappointment.

“Surely you have a first name? god blesses everyone with a first name.” The man pushed. Jakes gave him an uneasy look.

“Not one I care to use, not a Christian name.” He said simply, hoping that would put him off.

Luckily, it did, deciding to offer them a brew, which they quickly declined, wanting to get to the point of their visit.

He didn’t take the news well, which was expected really.

“Who would do such a thing?” Richard asked after a pregnant silence, only broken by muffled sobs.

“We aren’t sure, I’m afraid, we weren’t able to find much information at her flat. Do you know if your sister had any enemies?”

“Enemies? Heavens no. she was a sweet girl.” He said it in the sort of tone that Morse expected a ‘but’ to be added, however it didn’t come.

“Know of any partners? Close friends?”

He hesitated slightly. “No, no partners. She used to be close to a woman from her church group, Bethany, but I think they lost touch when Charity stopped attending.”

“How long ago did she stop going church, Mr Iv- Richard?” Morse corrected quickly.

“After er… well, she’d gone through a bit of a rough patch, truth be told. I think she lost her way a bit”

“Rough patch?”

“It’s personal.” Richard retorted smoothly.

“In all due respect, it may help us understand who killed her.” Jakes interjected.

He flashed Jakes a dubious look before sighing. “She had an abortion, a while back. Didn’t even know who the father was.” He said in slight disbelief.

“How long ago was this?”

“About a month ago.”

“Did many people know about it? people from the church?” Morse asked.

“No, she only told me and Bethany to my knowledge.”

“And what was your opinion on the abortion?”

Richard shrugged. “She wasn’t ready to be a mother. It was for the best.” It was automatic, rehearsed. Morse couldn’t tell if Richard believed the words he spoke.

“What about the string of lovers? Did anyone know about that?”

“Oh, yes. She didn’t make any attempts to hide it.” He said resentfully.

“Did you agree with it?”

“It wasn’t my place to judge. She seemed happy enough.” He sounded like he definitely _had_ judged it though.

* * *

Bethany was easy to find since she was another of the few contacts in Charities book, however she hadn’t had much to say. She hadn’t seen Charity since she left the church, over a month ago.

She did, however, give a useful list of people she suspected had been sleeping with her, some from her church too.

Morse leaned against his desk, gripping the sides whilst he pondered over the evidence board. Strange had just finished putting up photo’s from Charity’s flat, adjacent to photos of the body.

“Any ideas?” Strange asked, standing by Morse’s side, looking over the evidence.

“A few.” Morse hummed thoughtfully. “They both had been regular church attendants at some point recently, both girls, and we can’t rule out the coincidence of their names, Charity and Faith.”

“You think that’s the killers criteria?”

“Certainly looks that way, with the addition of having done something that could be considered a sin in the bible.”

“The girls aren’t connected though, they didn’t know each other, not even any mutual acquaintances. They went to different churches, lived very different lifestyles.” Strange countered.

“I know, I’m just looking at the similarities. It can’t be a case of random killings; the killer knows them enough to know their so–called sins.”

“A priest maybe?” Jakes joined the conversation, lighting a cigarette between his lips. Morse’s eyes lingered a second too long over Jakes’ fingertips.

Morse shook himself out of it. “Possibly, they’d know the victims if they’ve attended both churches.”

“I’ll look into it” Jakes said, rounding to his desk.

Morse nodded, deciding to see if he can contact any of the love interests from the church.

* * *

He had no luck though. None of the five numbers Bethany had given them got a response, however it was early evening and it was definitely possible they could be working or otherwise engaged.

It infuriated Morse that they were getting no closer to finding the culprit, all the while with an overwhelming dread of finding another body.

Morse was still staring at the evidence board past seven, most of the CID had gone home having no leads, or anything useful at all, to chase.

Morse couldn’t help but think they were missing something, staring them right in the face.

“Hey.” Morse heard, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Jakes was stood next to his desk, smiling to him. Morse took a quick look around the office, finding most of the lights off and no one else there.

“Found a priest that’s been associated with both churches in the last year, thought we could check him out tomorrow morning.”

Morse wanted to protest and offer to go over to the address now, but he knew they wouldn’t be welcome at such times of a weekday, especially as he apparently had a young family, and with no real evidence to deem him a suspect he knew they’d have to wait.

“How about we head home, I can cook us something nice.” Jakes said after a few moments, carding a hand through Morse’s curls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this is a tad slow, its a build up I swear   
> also Ive finished the next story of this series before finishing this one and Im low key dying to post it help


	4. To die for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CID get no further and a missing person's reported.

Morse didn’t sleep well again. He couldn’t sleep knowing there was a maniac out there prying on vulnerable women. Why should he sleep soundly when someone could be out there strung up and starving?

Jakes was clearly having the same problem, constantly tossing and turning next to him.

Morse placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, stilling the man.

“Morse?” He whispered, rolling over to face him.

“Hey.” Morse murmured, letting his hand slide to the side of Peter’s neck, giving him a small smile.

“Can’t sleep?” Morse shook his head. “Neither.”

They lay there studying each other for a while.

“Just doesn’t feel right, you know? Something evil’s going on.”

“I know.” He nuzzled his head into the crook of Jakes’ neck, steeling his warmth.

“We’ll get them. You always do.” He whispered, wrapping his arms around Morse’s bare chest.

Morse huffed. “It doesn’t feel like it. Feels like we’re running around with our heads in the sand.”

“Wait until tomorrow, I’ve got a feeling about that priest guy.”

Morse laughed slightly. “You gonna’ pin it on him already? Remember how that ended last time.”

Peter placed a light kiss into Morse’s curls. “Yeah, can’t have you getting punched by a priest.”

“Not what I meant, Peter.”

“Go to sleep.”

Peter didn’t let go of Morse for the rest of the night. 

* * *

18th March

It turned out being Thursday and Jakes that went to the church that morning to question the priest, but Morse didn’t mind since he still had the list of men to track down. They’d released Mr Wilson by lunch time.

Morse met Thursday and Jakes at the pub for lunch as usual.

“Right then what’s it today?” Thursday hummed in his usual tone, reaching into his jacket to pull out a perfectly wrapped sandwich.

“Ham and tomato.” Morse said without lifting his head from his notebook. He could feel Thursday’s eye roll though, making him smile.

“Not still on that lager stuff, are you?” Thursday huffed, placing his pint on a mat once Jakes had placed the three drinks down.

“’S what everyone drinks now, it’s all the range.” Jakes countered, taking a large sip.

“What did you make of the priest then?” Morse asked, hoping they’d found something even slightly significant.

“Seemed pretty innocent of it all to me, said he’d only ever seen Faith in passing after some services and claimed he’d never met Charity, which doesn’t surprise me since he’d only ever done a few services at that church to cover for illnesses.”

“How can you be sure he’s telling the truth?”

“Don’t worry, sergeant Jakes saw to that.” He said slightly disgruntled. “Didn’t give him chance to let him think of a cover up, did you sergeant?”

“Had to be sure, right? Girls lives are at stake.” He justified, flicking open his lighter and putting it to his cigarette.

Morse shook his head. He wasn’t surprised.

“And he has a solid alibi for all the dates in question, spends all his time either with his family or at the church. Seemed clean to me, Jakes thought so too.”

Jakes hummed in agreement.

“How’d the list of lovers go?”

Morse sighed, “more dead ends there too. I’ve contacted three, but it’s the same with all of them, a one-time thing, never spoke again. Didn’t really know anything about her, let alone anyone that might have it out for her.”

Surely, he was missing something. Had to be. 

* * *

Morse left early to see if he could get in touch with any of the other men he’d so far failed to catch, returning to CID just before one o’clock.

“Ah, Morse. Gentleman at the front desks come to report a missing person’s.”

Morse felt his stomach churn. It can’t be connected, can it? Not so soon after the last one. The killings can’t be that random, a week of nothing and then two in a matter of days? It had to be coincidence in this person’s disappearance.

He walked hesitantly to greet the man in the foyer, dreading he was going to say something like ‘my wife Hope is missing’ because he wouldn’t know what to do. Wouldn’t know what to say.

“Detective constable Morse.” He greeted, shaking the man’s hand.

He was roughly the same height to Morse but slightly slimmer if it was possible. His hair was almost pitch black, making his pale cheek bones stand out harshly in front of him. He was wearing a simple blue shirt and trousers, not giving Morse a feel of what the man might do for a living. He noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding band.

“George Blake. I ugh, need to report a missing person.”

“If you’d like to come with me, Sir, I can take a statement.” He was quietly praying this wasn’t happening, praying it was maybe just his alcoholic father that had gone off the radar again, not that he really gave him that vibe. 

George sat down opposite him, shuffling nervously in his seat.

“It’s ugh… my friend, Seth Harrison. He hasn’t been home the past two nights.”

Morse couldn’t tell if he was slightly relieved or not. It may not be a missing girl, but Seth technically would fit the criteria if the killer was moving to men too. Seth, the third son of Adam and Eve, and like Faith and Charity is well and truly a virtue name.

“How old is Seth?”

“28.” He responded dully.

“And he’s a friend, you say?”

His eyes were staring into his hands held firmly together. “Yeah.” He almost ground out.

“How do you know he hasn’t been home?”

“We share a flat, you know… cheaper bills.”

Morse got the feeling he wasn’t telling him the full story. “And there’s nowhere else he could have gone?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“Why didn’t you report it sooner?”

“I don’t know, he was out late with friends the first night, guessed he could have gone back with them, after he wasn’t home again last night I rang around and they’d said he’d left the pub early to get home.”

Morse quickly scribbled down the details. “Which pub is this?”

“The King Edward.”

“Does he have a job? Is it possible that he’d simply got in late and left early before you saw him?”

“No, no. I ugh… no I’d know if he was home or not.”

And Morse understood. Its hard to miss if someone was home if they were sharing the same bed. “What’s the address?”

“12a Cranham street.”

“And can you describe what he looks like?”

“I’ve got a picture, if that’s helpful?”

He gave him a monochromatic photo of a fair-haired man, smile beaming at the camera, wearing a light-coloured shirt. The photo was torn in half by the looks of things, tattered edges down the side of his arm in the photo. He wanted to ask what the other half was, but it wasn’t hard to see that it was likely George, who was ‘just a friend’. Morse certainly wasn’t judging the man though. He couldn’t imagine how he’d be feeling if it were him reporting Peter missing.

“Does Seth attend church?”

“No, not anymore. Hasn’t for about a year, why?”

“No reason, just wondering.” Morse lied and George could see it, giving him an uneasy look.

“Thank you, Mr Blake. We’ll be in touch if we find anything on his whereabouts.”

* * *

Morse had gone out to the pub and retraced his possible routes home, trying to find anything that could suggest foul play. It would have been more useful if it hadn’t rained so much in the last few days, nature washing away possibly critical evidence.

Unsurprisingly he found nothing. He asked the bar staff at the pub but they couldn’t remember seeing him the night he was supposedly there, apparently it was rather a popular night with the pub quiz, so it was hard to see who was who.

* * *

“Seth Harrison, 28. Reported missing by his housemate. Missing for two days now.” Morse declared to the group of detectives back in the office.

“You don’t think its connected, do you? its church lassies the killers going for, isn’t it?” Jakes asked, leaning back in his chair.

“I don’t know, he apparently used to go to church, and if the killer was going for men too it would make sense to keep the trend of virtue names.”

“So, you think this guy could be the next target?” Strange asked after a moment.

“I bloody hope not. If he is, we’re too late. He’ll be half starved by now. Probably delirious, rotting in some basement and tied up.” Morse spat bitterly.

“Less of that, Morse.” Thursday cut in, unimpressed by the lads pessimism. 

Morse shook his head waiting for something to strike him, but it didn’t come. He sat for hours going through all the information they’d sourced on the two women, hoping he’d somehow missed something. But Morse wasn’t one to miss things. For the life of him he couldn’t find anyone or anything that could connect the two, or three victims together, other than a history of attending church, but they’d been part of three different ones, it was unlikely one person would go to all three, and know the inner secrets of the church goers.

He couldn’t go home, if he gave up he was sure another body would turn up, likely that of Seth Harrison. He could have a death sentence signed by a madman just because he was sleeping with a man and his name fitted his sick criteria. He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t rest knowing someone’s life could be slowly drawing to an end because he wasn’t clever enough.

His phone rang at 11:30pm, glancing to the wall clock before picking it up. “Morse.” He said apprehensively. If this was a PC calling about a body, he was going to throw the damn phone.

“Endeavour, come home.” Peters voice sounded soft and concerned.

Morse sighed. Was he really making a personal call to him when he was in work? couldn’t he tell he was busy? “I can’t.”

“Morse come on. This missing person hardly fits any criteria, other than his name, which could definitely be a coincidence. He probably hasn’t even sinned!”

“He’s gay.” Morse said shortly.

“What?”

“His partner reported him missing. He has a significant enough sin. And the name. and a history of attending church.”

“Shit Morse.”

“I can’t give up on this, Peter. I have a bad feeling about it.”

“Do you want me to come in?”

Morse considered for a moment. Even though he’d enjoy the company, there was no point two men wasting their nights in futile efforts to find some hidden, possibly non-existent, connection. “No, it's alright. Get some sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said before putting the phone down.

Peter didn’t sleep.


	5. Dont pity the dead

19th March

Morse picked up Thursday at 8am on the dot, already four coffees into his day.

“Nothing?”

Morse swallowed thickly. “No Sir, nothing yet.” But it felt like it was only a matter of time.

They made their way into the CID to find Jakes and Strange charging in their direction with bleak looks painted across them.

Morse groaned, throwing his hands to his face, fingers tearing at the hair that fell over his forehead.

“Where?” Thursday asked, noting the despairing DC now leaning against the corridor wall.

“Up by Lye Valley.” Jake muttered; eyes set on Morse who looked ready to implode.

“Is it him?”

“Sounds like it, Sir.”

Morse felt like punching a wall. He fucking knew it. He’d failed. He couldn’t do anything to stop it and he hated himself for it.

* * *

From first looks it didn’t look anything like the last two murders, it was so much worse.

There were blood stains running down the length of his face, sources were covered by his blonde hair, but it seemed to circle around his head like a red crown. To add to the onslaught, the mans throat was cut from ear to ear and Morse couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen so much… he turned away feeling a strong wave of nausea rushing over him.

“Not a pretty sight, I’m afraid.” DeBryn said, seeing the young detective hunch away.

“Well, cause of death is clear at least. Time of death would be five to six hours ago.”

“Can this be the same person? It’s quite a difference from the last murders. They were placed specifically… clean. Not…”

Not cut open and painted in blood, Morse added internally. He had to agree, it was completely unlike the last to victims, which only made Morse worried that the killer was getting more reckless.

“There’s something carved into his arm, inspector.”

Morse dared a look but before he could make out the scribe, he felt a horrid rush of light headedness. He couldn’t even tell what colour the man’s shirt was, very inch of it was caked in a stale crimson.

Damn his hemophobia. He felt a warm had grip his arm, following it to find Peter hovering next to him. “Alright, Morse?” He asked, doing well to cover his concern with annoyance.

Morse shrugged off his arm, cautious of the touch around other people. “Fine.” He muttered.

“Leviticus 18:22?”

No. No, no, no. Morse wanted to walk away. Wanted to cry for the man, for his partner. Wanted to cry for Peter, and maybe even himself. And so, he did. He walked.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. The words of the verse cut into him like a knife, welded just for him.

“Morse?” He heard Thursday call to him, but he didn’t turn around.

He reached the car, out of sight of the bloodshed and braced his hands on the bonnet, steadying himself.

He could hardly breath, choking on the lump in his throat as he held back the tears, unable to get the image of Peter dead on the floor out of his head.

And maybe that was worse. He was being so selfish. A man was dead. Seth was dead, but all he could think about was Peter.

He heard familiar footsteps coming towards him and he bowed his head, trying to hide his face. “Morse?”

Jakes held out a hand to turn the DC to face him.

It wasn’t even a second before Jakes did a flash look of the surroundings before folding the sobbing man into his arms.

Morse allowed himself to melt into him.

“It's not your fault.”

“Of course, it is. If – if we’d have just found a lead. One lead. That would have been enough! How can there be so little to go on? How can there be nothing whilst so many people are dying?”

“Morse this isn’t anyone’s fault but the bloody maniac that’s out there. You can’t blame yourself.”

“I can, Peter. I can’t even think about Seth right now. every time I think of it I – I just see…” He couldn’t form the words.

Peter frowned. “Endeavour look at me. This isn’t on you. Yes, you’re the best bloody detective at Cowley, after me of course, but that doesn’t make everything on you.”

Morse nodded, taking a deep breath.

Jakes smiled morosely, wiping Morse’s wet cheeks with his thumbs.

They heard voices coming closer and they quickly broke away. Morse turned to face the car again, coughing.

“You alright, Morse? Looked a bit sickly back there.” Thursday said, stopping by his side.

“Just a bit lightheaded, right Morse? Thought I’d better check on him.” Jakes answered for him.

“Very good of you sergeant.” Thursday commended, not even questioning it. There was too much going on for Thursday to start second guessing his motives. “I’ll drive, Morse.”

Morse just nodded, wordlessly handing him the keys, and dropped into the passenger’s seat.

“You can drop me at Clanham road on the way.” He muttered.

“Why’s that?” Thursday asked, flashing him a look.

“I need to inform George of Seth’s death.” He said bluntly.

“You sure you’re up to it Morse?” He could feel Jakes’ eyes burning a hole in the back of his head.

“Yes.” He owed George this much.

* * *

Being in their home made it so much worse. They’d made a life for themselves with each other.

“Have you found anything?” George asked quickly, perched on the end of a cream coloured armchair, accompanied with a matching two piece suit in their well decorated living room.

Morse was sat on the sofa opposite, wishing it would swallow him whole. “Mr Blake…”

He wondered if it was possible to be able to sense when loved ones had passed. Or perhaps Morse wasn’t doing well in hiding his sorrowful face.

“No. No you’ve got it wrong.” George spoke harshly, barely over a whisper. He threw his hands to his face and started sobbing.

Morse forced himself to speak. This is your fault. This is your punishment. “Seth Harrison’s body was found this morning by Lye Valley… I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The man didn’t respond. Morse wasn’t even sure if he heard him, still crying uncontrollably.

Morse had to blink hard to stop himself from welling up again. Was this how he’d react if the body were Peter’s? Possibly, but he also felt there’d be a lot more whiskey and smashing involved.

“How could someone do this? Why – why would they do this?” George cried, finally pulling his hands away from his face.

“There’s reason to believe… someone found out he was homosexual.”

“And that’s why someone killed him?”

“No.” He replied quickly. He wouldn’t let George take the blame. “They killed him because they’re a psychopath who think they can play god.”

Morse blinked. They’re playing god. They’re killing people for their sins. They’re being strung up for days as a crucifixion. Morse snapped out of his thoughts. This wasn’t’ the time.

“This is all my fault. If I’d have been more careful with him…”

“George, look at me. This wasn’t your fault, the only person at fault is the person who did this. And I’m going to make sure we get them.” He’d make sure of it.

George nodded absently.

“George, can I ask you a few questions? I know it must be hard for you, but it could help us find whoever did this.”

He nodded again, staring at the floor.

“You said Seth stopped going to church about a year ago. Do you know why that is?”

George laughed through his tears. “Funny you should ask. Apparently, a fat little sod approached him one service, told him poofs weren’t welcome at church. Even started quoting the bible at him.”

“Do you remember anything else about the man? A name? A description?” This was the strongest lead they’d found since the bloody start. It couldn’t possibly be them, could it?

“No, wish I did though. I’d like to give the bastard a piece of my mind. Apparently, he moved a while after. Seth wouldn’t go back though; I think part of him believed he wasn’t welcome anymore.”

“Moved where, do you know?”

“No, some other part of Oxford.”

* * *

He got back to the station to find Jakes updating the board with the third victim, along with the bible quote ‘You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.’

Morse looked from the verse to Peter nervously, but Jakes was doing much better at hiding his emotions.

“But why slit his throat? Why not wait until he died like the last two?” Thursday thought out loud.

“Maybe he didn’t know how long it would take for a man?” Strange offered.

“He could have panicked. Maybe he fought back.” Jakes suggested, still looking at the board.

“He didn’t panic. The man's a psychopath.” Morse muttered. “He wanted him to be found today. Only it would take longer than three days to kill a grown man, so he had to take a different approach.”

“He got a plan or something, then? Some sort of sick schedule?”

“I think that’s exactly it. There’s something to those dates.” He just couldn’t put his finger on it. “I also have a lead, sort of. Seth was approached by someone in his old church almost a year ago, quoting the bible at him, telling him homosexuals weren’t welcome.”

“Do we know a name? description?”

“Other than 'short fat bastard'? No.” Morse said curtly.

Thursday raised an eyebrow. “Right, well. Best be getting to DeBryn for the post-mortem.”

* * *

Morse was glad to see the body had been cleaned of the blood. Not for his sake, but for George’s who had come and formally identify him, which must have been horrific enough as it is.

“As expected, cause of death was a deep oblique incision across the throat. The man’s stomach was empty, suggesting he hadn’t eaten for at least 36 hours before death. The cuts in his arm was done afterwards though.”

 _That’s something at least_ , Morse thought sullenly.

“There was a sharp metal object on his head, incision sites are evenly spread across the scalp.”

If Morse’s idea were right, the cuts would fit. “Sir, I believe it was a crown of thorns. Like in crucifixion.”

“You think they’re being crucified?” Thursday asked.

“It’s possible. They were all tied from the wrists and ankles to wood.” DeBryn added behind them.

Morse continued, “I think this man has been to different churches, finding people attending who he doesn’t believe belongs there and now he’s taken it into his own hands, playing god as it were.”

“Do you know who it could be?”

He shook his head. “No, but I’m going to go to St. Barnabas Church which Seth used to attend and see if I can find any attendees that had moved out of the area in the past year.”

“You sure you’re up to it? You look a bit pasty Morse.” Thursday said, looking over him with a raised eyebrow.

“Fine, sir.”

“Right o’. I’ll come with you if you’re going now. If there’s nothing else, Doctor?”

DeBryn shook his head.

Thursday didn’t trust Morse’s own judgement on his health. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d inadvertently worn himself out, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. He knew he’d been at the station all night from yesterday’s clothes and the weary look he was sporting.

* * *

“You sure you’re alright, Morse?” Thursday asked again, sitting next to him in the Jag as they travelled to Seth’s church.

“Yes.” Morse practically bit out.

Thursday thought for a moment, guessing at what was eating him up. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened. God knows you tried harder than the rest of us.”

“I should have figured it out by now. I should have tried harder. I should know who’s behind it by now.” 

“Morse listen here. This isn’t on you, alright? Not at all. We’ll get the bastard soon. I know it.”

Morse huffed in response. How many more deaths would it take, though?

* * *

The church secretary, Dorothy Moore, a greying woman with frizzy dry hair and an unfitted floral dress, showed them to a small office at the back of the church.

It was dimly lit and filled with filing cabinets. In the centre of the room stood a worn, dark wooden desk, with papers stacked haphazardly either side. The strange luminosity from the green walls gave him a sense of nausea.

There was only a desk chair, clearly not used to accommodating guests, the detectives remained standing.

“I’m afraid we only have a mailing list for flyers and event information. We never ask names or things.” Dorothy explained, rounding the desk and perching on the seat.

“And has any of the addresses been taken off in the past year or so?” Morse asked not missing a beat. He would go around every landlord in oxford to find the names if he had to.

“Oh plenty.” She fished out an old book, covered in a dark leather. “This was last year’s book. The addresses crossed off are the people that didn’t want to receive information from the church for the following year, for one reason or another.”

There was the best side of 30 addresses crossed out, all nameless.

Morse looked to Thursday, willing him to magic up names or anything that could point to the man who’d spoken so unkindly to Seth.

Thursday continued asking questions to the secretary, if she remembered any sketchy type characters and what not.

Meanwhile Morse looked around the office, finding a small unillustrated calendar to the side of a notice board, filled with hundreds of sticky notes and pieces of paper, some had been there so long the pages had begun to fade.

The calendar had its days crossed off with a red pen, up to the 19th. ‘ _19 th (feast of Saint Joseph.)’ _the calendar read _._

Morse blinked. Of course. Of course. How could he be so stupid?

He scanned over the other dates.

9th (Feast of Saint Frances of Rome.)

17th (Feast of Saint Patrick.)

It fit. And the next was only days away.

“Sir, they’re following the Christian calendar.” He said suddenly, turning on his heels to face the inspector.

“What?”

“Look.” He pointed to the calendar. “Every day we found a body. It fits, sir.”

“And the next is 23rd? that’s not even four days away!”

“And he takes them three days before.”

“So, they’re going to take someone tomorrow?”

Morse nodded. It was too soon. There was no way they could stop it.

“Right, back to the nick, we need to tell the others. Miss, I’m going to have to take this book, if its all the same.”

* * *

Strange and Jakes didn’t look like they believed him.

“How could we know who they’re going after? There’s a lot of religious people with virtue names, and god knows we all have our sins.” Thursday said.

“Exactly, I just don’t see how you can think we can stop them taking someone else if we don’t know who the killer is or even their next victim!”

Morse had to agree with Jakes’ scepticism. The concept of stopping the possible kidnapping felt almost impossible, but they had to try.

“Maybe put an alert out to the churches, get people to stay inside, lock their doors, put patrols around the areas, I don’t know… I don’t know.” Morse threw his head back staring up at the ceiling trying to think.

“We don’t have the manpower for that, do we?” Strange asked.

“We might not have any other choices. We have no idea who could be doing this.”

They sat deliberating their options for hours. They decided tomorrow they would send out as many PCs as they could spare to the neighbourhoods of the three churches. They couldn’t tell residents to stay inside and lock their doors, it would wreak panic through the streets.

“Right, let’s be getting home. I want us in at 8am, Morse be at my house for 7:45 sharp. We’ll send out patrols as soon as.”

* * *

Morse got in a short while after Jakes to Peter’s flat, once he’d dropped off Thursday and parked up the Jag outside.

“I grabbed fish and chips on my way home, hope it’s okay.” Jakes announced upon hearing the door go behind him.

Morse shrugged off his coat, wandering to the kitchen. “Thanks Peter, not sure if I have an appetite though.”

“Morse, come on, you’ve barely eaten all day. And no don’t even try going near that beer bottle. That’s the last thing your empty stomach needs.”

Morse rolled his eyes, stopping in his tracks to the fridge.

He slumped into the sofa next to Peter who had unwrapped the takeaway boxes on the coffee table in front of them, idly throwing chips into his mouth.

Jakes smiled, chewing on his food, and put a hand on Morse’s knee.

Morse stared at his food for a while, wondering if George was eating alone.

He didn’t realise he was crying until Peter’s worry gaze caught his. “Morse? What’s wrong?”

Morse shook his head involuntarily, tears brimming over his eyelids.

Peter wrapped his arms around the man in seconds, one hand holding the back of his head and the other running comforting circles on his back.

It broke Peter’s heart seeing Morse cry. “Hey, now. it’s alright.”

He shook his head against Jakes’ neck. “It’s not. It’s not alright.”

“Is this about Seth?” He asked nervously.

“No.” Morse laughed at his selfishness. _Do not weep for the dead or mourn for him, But weep continually for the one who goes away; For he will never return_ Morse thought to himself.

“What is it Morse? You can tell me.” He mouthed into Morse’s curls, lips catching Morse’s ear slightly as he spoke.

“I can’t stop thinking about George. How alone he must be. Peter I can’t – I can’t ever lose you.” He cried into Peters shirt.

And Jakes finally understood what had been eating at him all day. It wasn’t all because he thought he’d failed Seth; it was the fear of losing him that set Morse on edge.

He pulled Morse away from him slightly, enough to get the man’s eye contact, holding him firmly out by both arms. “Endeavour, you’re never going to lose me. I’m not going anywhere. Anyways you’re safe, I’ve never stepped foot in a church before.” He tried to lighten the conversation. Morse did huff a laugh from that.

“I couldn’t imagine you in a church.” Morse sniffed.

“Exactly, and anyways my name doesn’t fit.” He said, letting one hand trail up his arm to rest on his neck. Morse just took in his view. His Peter, alive and safe with him. He could see the grease and slight dashes of salt on his lips from the chips, his eyes were wide and soft and comforting all at once. Morse smiled.

He sat back eventually, wiping his face. “Sorry.”

Jakes didn’t stop his gaze. “Don’t apologise. Not for this. No psychotic bastard is ever taking me from you, alright?”

Morse smiled to Peter, feeling an overwhelming warmth rush over him. He nodded, finally taking a bite into his fish and chips.

They continued eating silently, content in each other’s presence.


	6. Tears

20th March

Morse was ten minutes early to pick Thursday up that morning, too on edge to sleep or eat. This was their chance to stop this maniac, Morse only hoped they’d catch them in the act and put a real end to the onslaught.

Once they’d arrived at the station after a silent, tense journey they deployed as many officers as they could to the streets on high alert and hoped it would be enough. It had to be.

Morse and Strange started contacting the landlords of the 32 addresses of people that moved out of the area from Seth’s church and Jakes and Thursday had gone to speak to the local churches to find if there were any attendees that fit the supposed criteria for the killings.

The tension in CID hung heavily enough a blade could cut through it. Everyone was on edge, dreading the call of a missing person, or worse, another body, because if Morse was wrong about the plan then they’d be back to square one with no knowledge of the killer’s mindset with no way to stop them.

It got to 6pm and between the two of them they’d only managed to contact 12 landlords to find the details of past tenants but none of them had stayed in Oxford after their contact had ended so Morse felt like, yet again, he’d wasted another day. It had proved very difficult to find each individual property owner and for them to find a list of past tenants. Morse was in awe of how many landlords had such a poor filing and storage system.

The one relief was no fateful calls had come in which Morse was grateful for. They had to count what little blessings they can on cases like this.

Thursday and Jakes had come back to the office an hour ago after informing some PCs to stay especially close to some residents houses, those who unfortunately fit the criteria of the killers sick games. Morse only hoped it would be enough to deter them.

“Patrols are still out, they’re on rotation for the next 36 hours, there’s not much more we can do now, I’d say we get ourselves home, start again bright and early tomorrow.”

“Should we not be joining the patrols?”

“Morse there’s the best side of 30 coppers on the streets tonight, we even called some from county over, I think they have it covered.”

“Surely the more the better?” Morse insisted, hating the helpless feeling that loomed over him.

“No, having the streets crawling with coppers will put all of Oxford on edge. I’ve already been interrogated by oxford mail more times than I care for.”

“But we can’t just do nothing! There’s still tenants we could be speaking to.” Somewhere inside Morse had a strong feeling about the man that had approached Seth all that time ago. If this man had moved to south oxford, visited Faith and Charity’s churches it would be the first real suspect they’ve had.

“We are doing everything we can but running around knocking and calling people at this hour won’t get us anywhere. Best to let everyone do their jobs, and right now yours is to go home and get some rest.”

Morse huffed, tugging his coat off the chair.

“Run us home, would you?” Thursday asked from behind him where he placed his hat on.

Morse silently obliged, following him out to the Jag.

“You best get some good grub down you when you’re home, looking a bit worse for wear these days.” Thursday said, frowning over the young detectives features.

Morse tried very hard not to roll his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Of course, you are.”

The rest of the journey was quiet which Morse took as a good thing if it meant avoiding questions on his health and wellbeing that Thursday had always seemed to take an unnecessary concern over.

“Want to come in for a cuppa? Maybe some dumplings?” Thursday asked, pulling up outside his quaint family house.

“Ah, afraid I can’t tonight, sir, got to get home and sort some things out.” Which really translated to _no sorry since Seth I’ve found it hard to let Peter out of my sight_.

“That lady of yours? Well make sure she cooks you up a good meal.”

Morse just nodded, he’d grown tired of constantly protesting that he didn’t have a girl, and it was hardly as if he could tell him the truth.

“Mind how you go.” Thursday said before stepping out of the car. He watched Thursday walk down his path, door opening to Win who welcomed him in with open arms, happy to see her husband home safe and sound. He wondered if Peter was waiting for him.

* * *

He got back to his flat twenty minutes later after signing the Jag back in and swiftly walking home, desperate to see Peter after almost a day without him. He could see George in the back of him mind, alone in his flat, wishing Seth were with him and it made him yearn for Peter. He couldn’t lose him like that, or any way, ever.

He quickly slipped the key in, almost dropping it with his shaking hands and opened the door, subconsciously hoping for Peter to rush to him for a hug but the flat was empty. There was no sign of Peter even though he’d left work over half an hour ago, all the lights were off, the only sound coming from the fridge chugging away as usual.

He wondered if he’d forgot they agreed his flat tonight, but it wasn’t like Peter to get mixed up about these things.

There was no sign of Peter having been to his flat since the morning. Maybe he wanted to go for a stroll? Maybe he wanted a night to himself and forgot to let him know but he couldn’t remember the last time they’d slept alone and he was sure Peter wouldn’t leave him when he knew how much the case was getting to him.

And then he thought something incomprehensible. He tried so hard to throw the thought out of his mind he felt a rush of light headedness and swayed slightly. The killer can’t have taken him, he couldn’t be the next victim. No no no.

He threw his hands to his head, grabbing painfully at his hair, eyes darting around the room trying to think of what to do.

But he couldn’t think straight. Not his Peter, anyone but him. They can’t take him.

Morse cursed. Why did he let him walk home by himself when there’s a madman on the loose?

Then hatred set in. Hatred for the arseholes that resented people like them which forced them to live a lie, to not be able to walk home hand in hand, in safety of the other. Damn them to hell he needed to find Peter right now. Right bloody now. He was getting him back if it was the last thing he did.

He hardly registered his feet charging for the door. He was going to scour the streets; he’d get a warrant to search every house in Oxford if he had to. He wouldn’t stop until he was found.

He didn’t even think to pick up his jacket before swinging the front door open and almost falling into Peter.

Peter? He blinked.

He was frozen to the spot. Peter was looking up to him, kneeling in front of the door, rooting through one of three bags.

Morse staggered back, eyes wide and unblinking at the man before him.

“Morse? You alright?” Peter asked, confused from the look on Morse’s face.

Was he alright? A few seconds ago, he thought Peter was in the clutches of a maniac and might never see him again. And there he was if front of him, unharmed.

“Peter” he intended to say but he couldn’t breathe the words out.

He lunged forward, pulling Peter through the door, still carrying the stupid bags.

Jakes quickly dropped them by the closed door, letting Morse pull him into a tight hug. “Endeavour, what’s wrong?” He asked softly, finding it slightly hard to breathe in the tight embrace Morse had him in.

And then he felt the younger man shaking, he didn’t register his knees giving out though, causing them both to fall in a heap in the floor.

Morse was almost in hysterics, crying in Peters arms.

Jakes had no idea what was happening, surely nothing had happened in their 30 minutes apart? “Morse, love, you’re alright. Its okay.” He wanted to ask what the hell was going on, but he was pretty sure Morse wasn’t in a state to answer him, deciding to softly comfort him until he calmed down instead.

“Breathe Endeavour. In and out, come on. Watch me okay, in and out. Just like that, simple right?”

Morse’s grip on him didn’t loosen, even when he was practically sat in the mans lap. He couldn’t form the words to speak to him, relief washing over him like a tsunami. He just focused on Peter’s warmth and the rise and fall of his chest.

He finally got a hold on his breathing, knowing Peter was very alive and very safe and definitely not in the hands of a psychopath. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” He stuttered, eventually pulling back.

“It's fine Morse, really.” Jakes said, none the wiser as to why Morse had a semi breakdown as soon as he got in.

He paused for a few moments, letting Morse collect himself whilst running smooth circles over his back. “Mind telling me what that was about?” He asked gently, hoping thinking about it wouldn’t set him off again.

Morse shook his head, staring at their hands that were now weakly intertwined. “You were gone.” He said, barely above a whisper.

“What?”

“You – you weren’t here. I I thought… It’s stupid but you weren’t here, and I didn’t know where you were and I thought that they’d got you or something and… god I was so scared, so so scared Peter.”

“Hell, Morse I’m sorry I didn’t think to leave a note or anything, I was just at the shops getting dinner in, we were practically out of everything.”

Morse looked over to the bags and let out a cracked laugh through his tears. “God I’m such an idiot, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, Morse. Its been a shit day. Feels like we were almost waiting for something awful to happen.”

Morse just nodded, fumbling his fingers over Peters.

Peter lifted a hand to Morse’s chin, lifting his head up lightly. “Look at me. Safe. We’re safe, Morse. You have nothing to worry about, I promise.”

Morse nodded again, trying to hide his face whilst he wiped at his damp face with his shirt cuffs.

Peter leaned in, pressing his lips gently to Morse’s, feeling the heat radiating from his face. His lips soft and full from crying. 

Morse returned, pushing himself into the kiss that not ten minutes ago he thought might never happen again. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, though. He couldn’t afford to think like that.

Morse leaned his weight into Peter, causing him to fall back onto his back, still lip locked. Peter smiled into the kiss, holding Morse as close as he could. Morse put one hand firmly on Peter’s hip, the other cupping his jaw, willing him closer. “I love you.” Morse breathed into Peter, not letting him break away.

“I know.” Peter joked, placing kisses down his jaw.

Morse pulled away, raising a mocking eyebrow.

Peter smiled, looking up to him, his eyes seemed an electric blue in the day’s golden hour rays. “I love you too.” He wrapped both hands around Morse’s neck, pulling him down for a long, deep kiss.

Jakes eventually pulled away, breathless from the embrace. “Right, I’m cooking you steak a la Peter, hope you’re hungry.”

Morse smiled, rolling off him and following him into the kitchen to help put away the groceries, still not wanting to leave his side.

He never wanted to feel as lost as he did in those minutes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAHHH sorry this wasnt meant to be a chapter but like I couldnt resist?? Just building the tension u know, every fic needs a morse meltdown really? Maybe?


	7. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the lead up to the 23rd, things get out of hand

21st March

Morse had no idea what he was doing, he’d never felt so lost working a case in his life. He’d found four more names from more very unorganised landlords but none fit the bill after questioning them, one was an elderly woman, another was a young family and the other two had apparently passed away. He was getting absolutely nowhere and if infuriated him, it was like the person was invisible, wandering around in the shadows and leaving only death in their wake. Either that or they were in plain sight which would be even worse.

“How can there be nothing to go on? Three people are dead and there’s nothing!” Jakes exclaimed, throwing his hands up frustratedly at the evidence board. He’d been out interviewing people from the three churches in the morning but clearly made as little progress as Morse.

Morse didn’t say anything. He had nothing useful to offer, no supportive words, not even a cocky remark.

Jakes turned, “What have you been doing?” He asked almost accusingly.

Morse raised his eyebrows, but he understood why Jakes was so frustrated, even if sometimes he targeted his annoyance at Morse. “Finding tenants. One of them has to be the person that spoke to Seth. They literally quoted the bible to him! For all we know it might be the same verse that was carved into him...” And the same person that yielded the knife, Morse added to himself.

“No offense matey, but a lot of people share that view, especially religious folk. People like him probably get a lot of comments like that.”

“Yeah, the poofs must be used to it.” A PC said behind them, dropping off some mail.

Morse shot him a glare, wanting to shout at him for being so rude but it would draw attention which wouldn’t be worth the risk. It didn’t take a lot for the rumour mill to start. 

“That’s enough constable. Show the dead some respect.” Jakes spat from across the room in his usual curt voice.

He was surprised to see no one batted an eye, the constable just stuttered an apology and went back down the stairs.

No one ever questioned Jakes on the topic, with all the tales and gossip of Jakes the womaniser that spread around the station no one ever had cause to doubt him. Morse felt it would have been different if it were him that spoke up, only ever mentions of an elusive girl that no one had ever seen. Sometimes he wondered if he should be like Jakes and just make up stupid stories to keep himself safe, only Morse wasn’t very good at lying.

Morse avoided eye contact with Jakes more than usual after that.

“The patrols are still out, there’s been no more missing person’s so we could have stopped them.” Thursday offered, coming out from his office.

“This time.” Morse muttered.

“We’ll have found them before the next time.”

Morse doubted Thursday’s confidence.

He continued his hunt for the mysterious tenant, praying for not another dead end, even if Strange did have a valid point.

By the end of the day he’d contacted 24 of the 32 landlords but still got nowhere, however he felt slightly more accomplished than the others who, in Morse’s eyes had been sat twiddling their thumbs all day, or in Jakes’ case ploughed through the best side of 2 packs of cigarettes.

No calls came in all day.

They called the patrols off at 6pm, he just hoped it was enough.

* * *

22nd March

Morse lay awake, waiting for the alarm to inevitably sound in an hour. He swore ever since the start of this case he hasn’t been able to sleep right. The thought of losing Peter was still too real even though he was right, Peter didn’t fit any of the apparent trends of the victims which put his mind slightly at rest.

He took comfort in the slow rise and fall of Peter’s chest as he slept almost silently. He was facing him on his side, one hand resting under his cheek, causing him to pout slightly. Morse took in every inch of him like it was the last he’d ever see him. He wondered how his hair was always perfectly in place after almost a full night’s sleep when Morse often woke looking like he’d been dragged through a bush backwards.

His sharp jawline seemed softer in the rays from the rising sun stealing into the room. Morse couldn’t help but reach out, running his thumb gently along it, careful not to wake him. He never wanted to know what it was like to wake up without Peter next to him.

* * *

Thursday made Morse go with him to interview more of the victims acquaintances after lunch, insisting he can’t just sit at his desk all day tracking down a homophobe in a town that was full of them.

In a way he was glad to be out with Thursday, but it bothered him that everyone thought he was chasing a dead end. That man literally quoted the bible at Seth, very few homophobes would do that surely.

Apparently, Faith had gotten along with a man who visited the church for around a month a while back, but they had no description of the man. They’d been described as ‘just your average bloke, seemed very friendly though’, however, the man hadn’t returned, abruptly leaving the church over a month ago.

“Might call by Miss Thorne tomorrow, she never mentioned that fellow when we interviewed her last time. Maybe she remembers a name or description.” Thursday thought out loud.

Morse nodded absently. He was too stressed to form a response. 

Morse’s mind was working on overdrive on the way back to the station. What would tomorrow bring? A body? A missing person? But what if there was nothing? They wouldn’t know if it was their efforts that deterred the killer or if he was simply following a different plan and he was wrong, but he couldn’t be. This was the only thing Morse thought he knew about the killer.

“Morse? You alright?”

He blinked, realising Thursday had been trying to talk to him for a while now. “Sorry sir, just thinking.”

Thursday laughed, “Nothing new there, then.”

Morse twitched his lip into a half smile if you could call it that. Possibly a grimace.

“You can’t go worrying yourself over tomorrow. There’s nothing to be done, lad. We just need to wait and see what the day brings.”

“I know.” He muttered unhappily. There was literally nothing he could do. He wished people would stop reminding him.

“You mays well drop me home, it’s getting late.”

Morse flashed a look to his watch, when did it get so late? They’d only interviewed a handful of people.

* * *

Morse took one step into his flat before Peter appeared from around the corner and pulled him into a hug. This was definitely the best part of his day.

“Hey.” He mumbled into Peters neck; arms wrapped around his frame.

Peter pulled away, quickly placing a kiss on Morse’s forehead. “Wotcher, I’ve made dinner.”

Morse smiled “Of course you have.”

“Well, if it were up to you, we’d be living off whiskey. Brain food, right?” Peter had quickly learnt after living with Morse the man was just about able to make burnt beans on toast (how is burning beans even possible?) followed by plenty of beer to drown the taste. No, Peter was definitely in charge of the cooking.

Morse hummed; he could do with a whiskey right now.

“You and Thursday find anything?” Peter asked, returning to a large wok of food.

“Possibly, mentions of a man Faith apparently got along with for a while, we’re going to see Abigail Thorne tomorrow to see if she knows anything.”

“That’s good, better than the pile of nothing I found today.”

Morse found his way into the fridge and opened a bear before Peter could object.

They sat mostly in silence as they ate, Jakes seemed content listening to the radio whilst Morse slowly drowned in his thoughts.

“Morse, stop playing and start eating.”

Morse blinked from his trance, realising he was just pushing the food around carelessly with a fork.

“If you don’t eat it, I’m sure I can find someone else who would.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m the only one who likes your cooking.” He mocked, finally taking a bite of the stir fry, which was admittedly tasty, only if he had the appetite.

He managed a few more mouthfuls, mostly to get Peter off his back, the beer was going down much easier.

“You need to stop thinking Morse, it’s not healthy for you.” Jakes joked, cleaning off his plate, however Jakes did believe there was some truth in it, especially when his thoughts would distract him from his basic needs.

Morse shrugged. “I can’t _not_ think. Not when tomorrow…” He didn’t finish but Peter understood.

“I can always help with that.” Jakes said slyly, not that Morse cottoned on.

“I don’t think you could.” He replied grimly, looking at his almost cold food.

“Endeavour.”

Morse looked up to Jakes who stood a meter away with his hand outstretched, wiggling his fingers. Who was he to say no to Peter Jakes, smirking, and allowed him to lead Morse to his bedroom, stir fry forgotten. 

* * *

23rd March

Morse had sat his desk from 7am that morning, Jakes had gone to pick up Thursday since everyone wanting to be in early, prepared for the worst.

He sat staring at his notes, twiddling a pencil around in his hand, letting it rest behind his ear for a few moments before taking it to fidget again. He hadn’t said a word to anyone, too apprehensive for what the day held.

It got to 11am and nothing had come in. No missing persons, no bodies. Morse wondered if they should send patrols out to search for a body but that would just be tempting fate.

Thursday and Jakes had been to see Miss Thorne, but she couldn’t shed much light on the mysterious man. Maybe it was the same person who’d approached Seth, but he didn’t expect that man to be described as ‘friendly’.

By 4pm Morse was hoping that the patrols from the days before had deterred the killer from taking another victim and that’s why no body had been found. It had to be.

“Maybe Morse was wrong, maybe the killer doesn’t have a plan.” Strange suggested, breaking the silence.

“I’m not wrong, I’m sure of it. The patrols must have stopped them taking someone else.”

“Or you were wrong.” Jakes muttered through his cigarette.

“I’m not wrong! It fits, the quotes, the crucifixions, the days of feasts. They just couldn’t get to his next victim.” Morse insisted, trying not to give in to his irritation.

“Matey, it was worth a shot, but there’s been nothing. We need to consider the fact that the dates idea could be wrong.”

“It’s not! It fits, it has to be that, we just stopped them this time.”

“Or you could be wrong! Admit it!” Jakes pushed, making Strange step back, wanting to escape the line of fire.

Morse rose. “I’m not wrong! We sent those patrols out to stop them and we’ve done just that. There’s just no proof.”

“You’re right, there’s no proof, no proof you’re right.” Jakes said, taking a step towards him, frustration almost searing off him.

Morse shook his head. “How can you give up on this so easily? If we don’t have this, we have nothing!”

Jakes’ eyes closed into a glare. “Is that what this is about? Scared of having nothing? You of all people should be used to that.” Jakes bit his tongue, instantly trying to swallow the words back down.

_You of all people._

Morse recoiled like he’d smacked him hard across the face.

Jakes wished he’d bite back, tell him to fuck off, anything. Instead he stared at him silently letting the hurt wash over him.

Thursday quickly stepped in between them. “Sergeant Jakes! Alright, that’s enough. We’ve been at it for a while, take the day Morse, get your head down for a bit. Jakes, see if you can’t do some more digging into the church.”

Jakes didn’t take his eyes from Morse, the two locked in sight. Jakes hoped he could see how sorry he was for letting his stupid mouth run away with him, but Morse couldn’t see past the hurt.

He stormed out of the office without another word. Jakes couldn’t watch him leave.

* * *

Peter Jakes was right. He could make Morse forget about the case; he just wasn’t expecting his insecurities to be thrown at him to accomplish it.

He fisted his hands deeper into his pockets as he thundered home, blinking away the sting of tears. Whoever said actions speak louder than words were wrong. Words cut deep, he learnt that from Gwen, he just never expected it from Jakes which, when Morse thought about it, was silly.

Jakes was the one that ridiculed him almost every day for two years, had he really changed? Or was he just pretending he didn’t still loathe him. No. he couldn’t think like that. He was different now, he loved him. But he couldn’t erase the doubt that had crept in. His anger and annoyance still seemed to be channelled towards him after everything that had happened between the two and he couldn’t understand why.

He didn’t intentionally slam the door to his flat, but it quivered at the aftershock.

He checked his watch. It was almost 5pm, a perfectly acceptable time of day to swallow down his frustration with his finest whiskey, in his opinion.

Only he didn’t make it to the cabinet.

A hard, sharp blow to the back of the head sent him crumpling to the floor, smashing a bottle on the way as he feebly tried to grab at the shelf on his fall.

His head felt like it'd been split in two, unable to move as he lay helplessly on the floor, vision blurred.

He was vaguely aware of a person crouching beside him before darkness enveloped him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you're your own worst critic but this chapter took me a long while to be happy with it, I'm still not completely there so if you guys have any feedback I'd be so grateful.
> 
> We're finally getting into it though now! Yay! Thanks for reading pals X


	8. Thicker Than Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jakes goes home to find more than he bargained for.

Jakes felt terrible. He wanted nothing more than to go after Morse, tell him how sorry he was for letting his big stupid mouth run away with him, but he couldn’t. It would give the game away completely and he couldn’t risk him or Morse getting found out.

The rest of the station carried on almost normally with just an inch of added tension. People weren’t unaccustomed to Jakes’ outbursts, especially when aimed at Morse. Thursday was certainly unimpressed with him, but he had just been in a shouting match with his adopted son, he expected nothing less. He was used to taking Morse’s side every time, which made sense since it was always Jakes that crossed the line.

He couldn’t focus on anything, forever worrying what must be going through Morse’s head right now. He expected he’d be half a bottle of whiskey down by now and would likely have to peal him off the living room floor by the time he got home and begged a drunk Morse for forgiveness.

He had no idea why he’d say it. _You of all people know what its like to have nothing_. Fucking hell, he was the worlds worst person. He didn’t deserve Morse’s forgiveness. He knew how little Morse had growing up, knew that at one point he literally had nothing to live for and he took his haunting memories and threw them in his face. He blinked ferociously, trying to keep the tears back. He may have just ruined the best thing in his life in a single sentence.

Jakes watched the clock hand slowly reach 6, jumping out of his seat as soon as his shift had ended. He needed to see Morse, tell him he was sorry he was, how he was going to do everything he could to make it up to him, if Morse would let him.

He almost ran to Morse’s flat, forever thankful at its convenient location to the station.

He quickly jogged down the stairs, fumbling for the keys in his coat pocket.

He swung the key between his fingers looking up to find the door ajar.

Jakes heart missed a beat.

Was he so frustrated he forgot to close the door? Or had he gone out in a hurry? If it was the latter, he hoped he wasn’t pissed out his head wondering somewhere around Oxford.

He hesitantly opened the door further, creaking in compliance. “Morse?”

His blood ran cold. A red trail lead right to the door, disappearing from around the corner. Had he hurt himself? Jesus he wouldn’t forgive himself if he’d hurt himself drunkenly falling. Maybe he’d smashed a mirror in frustration.

Jakes shook his head. He knew none of those theories could be true. The blood was smeared like he’d been dragged out of the flat, not just blood smatterings from a cut. 

“No.” Jakes choked out, tentatively following the blood trail. “No. No. No.”

The track stopped at the scene of a broken whiskey bottle by the cabinet. It must have been half a bottle’s worth, slowly soaking into the carpet, mixing in with the blood like some horrific concoction.

Jakes couldn’t breathe. What the hell happened?

But he knew.

They had him. They’d taken his Morse. His Endeavour. In broad fucking daylight.

His eyes were glued to the blood. Endeavours blood. They can’t have taken him, they can’t. It can’t be them. He wasn’t religious, the only thing Morse believed in was a good whiskey. It must be a mistake. He doesn’t even have a Christian name for god’s sakes.

But neither did the rest. Virtue names, he’d said.

Jakes froze. Could the killer know about them? They’d already killed one guy for sleeping with a man. Jakes couldn’t comprehend it. None of it made sense. They couldn’t possibly know about them.

But it made complete sense. Morse technically fit everything the killer was after; how could he not have seen it before? Morse was everything the killer seemed to be after.

Maybe he just didn’t want to see it, _couldn’t_ see it. Too afraid of the thought and look where that had gotten him. Too many times he’d avoided facing his fears and just like every other time it ended in ruin. He’d lost Morse. The man he swore he’d protect.

He ran out into the street, almost falling up the concrete steps. “MORSE!” He screamed as loud as he could, flailing around, looking in all directions down the street. “Morse!” But there was no sign of him anywhere. He only got a few confused looks from passers-by, but he didn’t pay them any mind. There was only one thing he could think of right now.

Tears brimmed in his eyes. What if the last thing he’d ever said to the man he loved was how he had nothing? He almost laughed at the irony, now it was Jakes who had nothing. 

And then he ran. He didn’t even register it at first, his legs carrying him as fast as he could to Thursday’s house. He had no idea what he was doing. He couldn’t think, he just had to get to Thursday. He’d know how to help, how to fix it. He should have called him, thinking about it, but he couldn’t take another step into the flat. He wasn’t even sure if he could form coherent sentences when all he could think was Morse, Morse, Morse.

He managed to make it to Thursday’s house in under ten minutes, hardly able to breathe. He pounded at the door, not even considering the rest of the Thursday family.

The door opened to Thursday, dressed simply in his shirtsleeves and trousers, unwinding from the stressful day.

He looked to Jakes crossly. “Sergeant Jakes, what the hell are you doing? Trying to break the door down?”

He was still trying to catch his breath, he put his hands on his knees to support his shaking legs. He looked up to Thursday with heartbreak in his eyes.

“Jakes?” He took a tentative step forward to the distraught detective.

“They’ve got him.” Is all he could manage.

“What who’s got who? Look, Jakes you best come inside.”

Before Jakes could protest because no, no, no they didn’t have time to spare, Thursday had pulled him into the hallway, clicking the door closed behind him.

“They… they’ve taken him. They’ve taken Morse!” Jakes’ voice broke at every word.

His heart broke at every word.

“What?!”

“He’s– he’s gone. The – there’s blood, the door was open when I got there. They’ve got him sir.”

“Are you certain?” Thursday’s eyes were glued to him as he spoke sternly.

“It has to be them.” It was barely over a whisper. He was about to fall apart right there but he couldn’t. He didn’t have time for a breakdown. Morse didn’t have time for a breakdown.

“Shit. Win! I’m going back to work.” Thursday shouted, frantically putting his shoes on.

Win’s head popped around the corner of their dining room. “Already? you’ve only just got back Fred.”

“There’s been a development, I have to go, pet.”

He quickly dialled the number to CID. “Strange, get a team over to Morse’s flat right now. Me and Jakes will meet you there.” He didn’t wait for a response before slamming the receiver down.

“Morse? Is he alright?” Win questioned behind him.

“I don’t know love, I’ll call later.” He didn’t have time to stop to give her a kiss. The two detectives charged out the house as fast as they could, leaving Win to close the door behind them.

Adrenaline pumped through Jakes’ veins allowing him to keep up the unforgiving pace to Morse’s flat.

Strange and DeBryn were just pulling up outside when he and Thursday rounded the corner to Morse’s street.

“Sir? What’s going on?” Strange questioned, slamming the Jag’s door closed behind him.

“Jakes thinks the killers taken Morse.” Thursday replied bluntly, trying not to let the fear sink in.

“Morse? Why would they take him?”

“How am I supposed to know? They’re clearly demented.” Thursday spat angrily. He didn’t have time for Strange’s stupid questions.

They followed Jakes into the flat, careful of the blood and broken glass. The rest of the flat looked pretty normal to Jakes which he was thankful for, he didn’t want to see anymore destruction in their – Morse’s – flat.

“DeBryn, see what you can make of it. Strange and Jakes, start looking around, see what you can find. I’ll call CID to get a group of PCs here to start door to doors.”

Jakes was glad Thursday was taking charge of the situation. God knows he’d have broken down by now if left to his own devices.

The call took less than a minute, Jakes watched from the corner of the living room, unable to do anything even partially useful.

“Care to explain why you were here, sergeant?” Thursday turned to him once he put the phone down, noticing he wasn’t doing what he’d asked.

Jakes blinked, looking wide eyed at Thursday. Shit he should have thought of this. “I, ugh, just wanted to apologise to him, for yelling earlier.” It wasn’t a lie, but it certainly wasn’t the whole truth.

Thursday nodded. It had become rare for them to argue, so it wasn’t unfathomable he’d genuinely come to apologise to the DC.

Thursday began to look around the living room.

The living room that was filled with both his and Morse’s clutter. Shit. How could he not have thought of this? Was he trying to get arrested?

Jakes couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. It was only a matter of time before someone realised.

“Two plates, clearly hasn’t been alone. His girl maybe?” Thursday asked, looking to Jakes.

Jakes looked away from their left over stir fry they’d failed to clean away the night before. He couldn’t do this. But there was no way out. No spare room or sofa to lay excuses on, his pyjamas were in his bed for gods sakes.

Strange emerged from the bedroom, holding a pack of cigarettes.

Morse didn’t smoke.

“Sir?”

“Could be the girls?” Thursday repeated.

Jakes was slightly relieved he didn’t automatically associate the brand to Jakes, even though he swore he was the only one he knew that would buy those sort.

Strange nodded, disappearing again.

Jakes eyes wandered to DeBryn who was crouched over the broken whiskey bottle and blood-stained floor.

He wanted to ask what the doctor thought, but he knew he’d have nothing to add. He was clever enough to know it was undoubtably Morse’s, that it wasn’t the whiskey bottle that had caused the injury since the pieces weren’t covered in blood, that he’d likely dropped it as he fell. Fuck. He could practically see Morse there, lying helplessly on the floor surrounded by blood, glass and spilt whiskey.

“Um… Sir?” Came a confused voice.

Shit. This was it; he could feel the dread setting in his veins.

Thursday and Jakes followed the voice into the bedroom. Strange was holding a tie, looking into Morse’s wardrobe.

“What is it sergeant?”

“The ugh, cuffs… Jakes?”

Fuck. The embroidered fucking cuff links.

“Sergeant Jakes, care to explain why your suit is in Morse’s wardrobe? Why your cigarettes are on the side?”

Jakes turned away. “I ugh- Morse knows a dry cleaner, he owed me a favour, said he’d take it with his.”

Thursday raised his eyebrows. “Morse hasn’t stepped foot in a dry cleaners in his life, don’t lie to me sergeant.”

“He owed me a favour, that’s it.” Jakes pleaded, trying to buy time in freedom. He wondered how he’d be in prison, not that he cared if Morse was dead. He wondered if he’d even try to carry on if he didn’t have Morse.

“And that’s why your pyjamas are in his bed too? Washing them too, was he?”

“They – ugh – aren’t mine?” How the hell was Thursday meant to know what his pyjamas looked like. It was an obvious guess, albeit an educated one.

Thursday almost growled at him, seeing straight through the lies.

Fucking hell there was no way out, he could feel sweat forming under his collar, fearing the inevitable.

“Sergeant Strange, step outside. Close the door behind you.”

Jakes had never seen Strange move so fast, closing the door quickly behind him.

Thursday’s eyes hadn’t moved from Jakes for even a second. “How long?”

“Sir?”

“How long has this been going on, hm?”

Jakes wanted to deny it, but he’d be wasting his breath. The place was scattered with his things. He’d find his toothbrush in the bathroom, his coffee in the kitchen. “Few months.”

“Months?”

“Sir, please, _please,_ if you’re going to arrest me, just make sure you find Morse. Please.” Jakes was almost crying at his pleas.

Thursday shook his head angrily, almost taking pity on the broken man in front of him if he wasn’t being so stupid. “I’m not going to bloody arrest you Jakes, Jesus Christ.”

Jakes blinked. “You’re – you’re not? But we’re-“

“Yes, you don’t need to spell it out for me. I can see what’s going on here.”

Jakes nodded, looking down. He tried to cough back the tears, relief washing over him.

Thursday cleared his throat. “I know this isn’t the best time for this at all, but I need to know. What are you doing with him?”

“Sir? I don’t understand.”

“You’ve dated every girl in town. If you’re just stringing him along, I need to know. I won’t have you hurting him.”

How could Thursday be so up straight about all of this? How could he even think that of him? “What? No sir, no. I could never-“ could never hurt him, he wanted to say. But he had, only a few hours ago.

Thursday nodded, considering his next moves. “You love him?” he surprised himself at the intimate question that slipped out, but he couldn’t help it, he needed to know. This could be the reason Morse had been taken.

Jakes didn’t take his eyes of the floor, nodding. “More than anything.” It was barely a whisper, but Thursday heard it loud and clear.

Thursday put a hand on Jakes’ shoulder, making him look up in surprise. “We’re going to get him back.”

Jakes couldn’t understand what was going on. Too much was happening. Morse was gone. Thursday found out about them. Thursday _wasn’t_ arresting him. Thursday was… comforting him?

“wipe that look off your face, sergeant. We protect our own.”

Jakes nodded, wiping his hands over his face. he didn’t mean to start crying but catching the sight of Morse’s oversized pyjamas thrown haphazardly on the bed pushed him over the edge. “He’s gone…”

“Damnit Jakes, I know.” He thought he was annoyed at him for something so blatantly obvious but instead he pulled Jakes into a tight hug.

“We’re going to get him back. We will.”

Jakes let himself lean into the comfort of Thursday. Thursday had never hugged him before but there was an odd warmth to it. He wondered how many times the older man had comforted Morse in the same way, and he felt a small wave of envy. He’d wanted Thursdays approval for so long and now here he was in the mans embrace. He just wished the circumstances were different.

“Right, back to it, get yourself together. Technically I should take you off the case-“

“No!” Jakes interrupted quickly, wiping his cheeks with the cuff of his shirt.

“-But we need all the brains we can get. You need to tell me if it gets too much though, alright? I can’t help you if I don’t know you need it.”

Jakes nodded, following Thursday back into the open plan living room.

“Doctor?”

“I’m afraid it isn’t good news. From the diameter of the blood stain it was likely from the back of the head. If it were lower down the body, it would cover a larger width. It wasn’t the whiskey bottle that caused the injury, but we’ll send if for analysis anyways.”

“Is it serious? The injury?”

“Head wounds are always serious inspector, however if he’s to share the same fate as the others it won’t be what kills him, as you well know.”

Jakes had to look away, feeling nauseous all of a sudden. He thought of Morse, tied up and starving in some cave, screaming for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cave? come on Jakes lets be real
> 
> Pretty happy with how this chapter came out? maybe? if anything needs changing or if there's anything you want to see let me know because I'm just whacking out a one man show and I can get carried away sometimes lol  
> Thank u for reading!!


	9. Ain't no way to get to heaven now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if the fic name change low key confused you i just had an epiphany and HAD to rename it (enjoy the update!)  
> (would fully recommend listening to half man half god by Don Broco, its quite fitting but is sliiighty heavy)

Morse faded in and out of consciousness for what seemed like forever. It felt like an uphill battle, fighting to get to reality but he kept failing.

The first thing he was aware off was the all-consuming pain in his shoulders that supported his whole weight, wrists bound tightly out at his side. There was pain orbiting his head that felt like burning hot rods were being jammed into his skull, clouding his mind.

It took all of his will power to open his eyes, grateful the darkness was kind to his eyes. The only slither of light came from under a door on the other side of the damp smelling room.

This was not good.

He moved his head slightly and his vision nearly whited out from pain, realising there really _was_ something on his head digging in painfully, not just the aftereffects of being knocked out. He tried not to move much after that, he couldn’t risk losing consciousness again, he had no idea how much time had passed as it is without losing more.

He needed to find out where he was and how the hell he was going to get away.

He tugged at the ropes binding his arms to the wooden slat behind him, they didn’t give even slightly, same with his feet. He gave a few more pulls for good measure, hoping maybe they’d give but all it caused was an aching pain and a wet feeling around his wrists and hands.

His breathing increased harshly as he began to panic. He was going to die. He was going to die slowly and painfully and then they were going to find his body in a field. The thought of Peter looking over his lifeless form felt like a knife through his heart.

Peter. Did he know yet? Had he gone to his flat to inevitably find a smashed bottle and him missing? Or had he just gone home, still angry? He hadn’t looked angry when he left the station though, more like a puppy with a foot in his mouth. However, Jakes was a stubborn man at the best of times, he only hoped this wasn’t one of them. If they didn’t find him missing until the next morning it made his chances of survival even slimmer.

Like they weren’t non-existent already, Morse though solemnly. There was almost no way they’d find him; Morse knew all too well that they had nothing to go off.

Movement beyond the door threw him from his thoughts, realising he could be faced with a psychotic mass murderer within a matter of moments. He tried to control his breathing.

In. Out. In. Out. In. In. In. Shit, this wasn’t going to end well.

He had nothing to bargain with and it was unlikely he’d be able to talk his way out of it, mouthing off at him would likely just make his murder quicker.

A key slid into the door, there were two patches of dark under the door from their feet.

Morse caught his breath, bracing himself for the harsh light to hit him.

And it did.

The door opened ungracefully, light poured into the room, momentarily blinding him as he tried to adapt, blinking rapidly.

His eyes eventually set on the figure meters away from him.

“Surprised?”

* * *

“How could it be him? He isn’t religious.” Strange asked back at the station, trying not to look at Jakes since they’d left the flat, unsure about what he’d say to him.

“No, but he sings in the church choir. He hasn’t performed since Christmas though, I went myself.” Thursday explained.

Jakes raised an eyebrow. Morse hadn’t told him Thursday had seen him sing, Jakes had wanted to go to a concert, but he refused him, said it’d make him too nervous.

“Maybe someone on the choir?” Strange pondered. “Or someone that had watched, but how would they know who he was? There’s dozens of them.”

“He was in the paper remember?” Jakes recalled all too well.

God that article. He’d mocked Morse so much for it at the time, planted it on his desk to watch the embarrassment set in like some sick entertainment, but that felt like another lifetime ago. He could never – would never – do that to Morse again.

“Were there tickets? Booking details?”

“No, you just donated at the door.” Thursday said, looking over Morse’s desk. “Do we know how far he’d got with those landlords?”

“Think he only had six or seven left to find.” Jakes replied from his desk, still sat with his head in his hands. He needed to keep it together, he couldn’t let Thursday take him off the case, he needed to find Morse.

“Right, well, you get on that tomorrow Strange.”

“Sir? Surely, we should be trying to find real leads. We can’t just chase around random homophobes!”

“This is a real goddamn lead!” Thursday spat. “This is one of the only things we have. If we have to chase a random homophobe so be it.”

“Good heavens, what’s all this about Thursday?” Bright asked, stepping into the office.

Thursday cursed inwardly; Bright is not someone he wanted to deal with right now. “There’s been another kidnapping, sir… Morse.”

Bright gave Thursday an astonished look. “Are you sure?”

“Very.”

“Right, well. What are we going to do about it?” He collected himself quickly, straightening his uniform.

“Strange is going to chase up the rest of the landlords tomorrow, me and Jakes are going to go to the church Morse sings at, see if they can remember anyone out of sorts from the last concert.”

“Very good. Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t believe so, sir. Sergeant Strange might appreciate some help, though?”

“Of course.”

Jakes thought for a moment, dreading what he needed to ask. “If Morse is right, sir, with the dates, how long do we have?”

Thursday sighed, “If he’s right we’ve got until 26th, the feast of annunciation.”

Jakes just gaped at him. That wasn’t enough time, not nearly enough. Less than three days. That’s all they had.

WPC Trewlove snapped him out of his thoughts. “Sir, I’ve got the report from the door to doors on Morse’s street.”

“Anything?” Thursday asked, taking the papers from her.

“There were a few that mentioned a white car, possibly a Ford, on the street around the times we believe the abduction took place, no reg. That’s all though, nothing else suspicious.”

“Hardly the type of car you’d pick for a kidnapping.” Strange said, thinking out loud.

“Maybe they’re getting cocky, taking someone in broad daylight like that.” Jakes added, not really helping the situation.

“Thank you Trewlove.” She nodded and headed back down the stairs.

“Right, see if there’s been any vehicles stolen recently that match the description.” Thursday said to Strange. “I’m going to take the Jag, see if there’s any suspicious looking white cars.” Thursday knew how ridiculous that sounded but he couldn’t sit waiting until morning to start looking for his bagman. He had to do _something_.

“I’m coming.” Jakes declared, following after him.

* * *

“You?”

Richard smiled. Richard fucking Iverson.

“You killed your own sister?” Morse almost laughed. He wasn’t falling into delirium already, was he?

“She was no sister, not anymore. The lord is the only family I need.”

Morse would have shaken his head if it weren’t for the metal thorns sticking into his skull. “You’re mad.”

“No, Endeavour, I am virtuous.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Richard’s mouth slithered into a smile. It made Morse sick. “Now, Endeavour, I don’t think you’re in the best place to be making demands.”

Morse didn’t respond. Then, “why Faith? Or Charity? Seth?”

“And why should I tell you?”

“Because you want to gloat. Deep down you want everyone to know what you did, how you think you’re clearing the world of sin.”

“Well, you seem to already know why. That’s exactly what I’m doing, what the lord wants me to do.”

“I believe you’re forgetting the six commandment. Not much of a Christian are you.” That earned him a smack, jarring his neck but it wasn’t the hit that caused black dots to cloud his vision slightly.

Blinking, he saw Richard wiping the blood off the back of his hand.

Come to think of it, his face did feel sickeningly wet. Images of Seth’s face flashed before him and it made him gag. Is that what he looked like now?

He stopped thinking about the blood that covered his face in fear of throwing up. He turned back to Richard. “Why them? How do you even know them? How do you know who I am?”

“Oh, I recognised you as soon as you turned up on my doorstep. The detective with the voice of an angel.”

Morse cringed but Richard only smiled at his discomfort.

“You sang beautifully at the Christmas concert, you know. I thought you might have been like me. True, honest, innocent.”

“I’m nothing like you.” Morse spat.

“No, you’re not. You made that very clear the other day by Seth’s body. You’re worse than the others, not only a grave sin but a police officer breaking the law he fights to uphold? I couldn’t let that continue.”

Morse frowns, wondering how the hell he knew about Jakes but then it struck him. Seth’s body. He left to go to the car and Peter had followed. Had Richard been there?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Richard chuckled. “Seth said the same.”

That struck a chord in Morse. “Don’t you fucking speak his name.” He fought against the ropes, wishing they’d give in and he could kill Richard with his bare hands. He felt feral, practically growling at the man in front of him.

“It was quite precious, seeing you cry over him. a man you didn’t even know.”

Morse clenched his jaw, trying to keep the pain at bay as he tugged ferociously at his bonds. “You bastard. You’ll never get away with this.”

“Oh, I think I will. I’ve enjoyed watching Oxford’s finest detectives run loops around me. I don’t think they’ll ever find me. Body after body and still no closer. You know how that feels, don’t you?”

Morse just growled again. If he was trying to rile him up it was downright working.

Richard just smiled, disappearing through the door only to return a few moments later with a chair, placing it less than two meters from where Morse was tied.

“Endeavour Morse, are you ready to confess your sins?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised Bright hasn't made an appearance yet so... surprise!   
> also i know the feast of annunciation is actually 25th but that doesn't give them a chance in hell so.. yeah - extra day!   
> Let me know what you thought of the chapter! It was shorter than expected but will hopefully update again very soon


	10. Hurts like hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings of contemplating death? Everyone just isnt okay

As fate would have it there were hardly any white cars around, and Oxford was a big place, so they just kept on driving, street after street, aimlessly. It was at least half an hour before Thursday broke the silence.

“You have to forgive my curiosity, but Morse?” Thursday glanced to Jakes for a second before focusing on the dark streets.

“Sir?”

“I just mean, well, you’re like the opposite sides of a coin.”

“And a coin wouldn’t be a coin without the other half.” Jakes pointed out aptly.

Thursday smiled at that. “I guess you’re right, sergeant.” He paused. “I was meaning to thank you actually. You seemed to be doing a good job at looking after him.”

Jakes snorted. “Seemed to be.”

“That wasn’t what I meant Jakes; this wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have gone after him when he left. If I had –“

“The if game is no good to any bugger. You’ll do well to remember it.” Thursday cut in, not wanting to listen to the endless ‘what ifs’ Jakes could come out with.

Jakes just nodded, looking back out of the window.

“All the same though, thank you. Morse needs someone there for him, god know I try, but the lads so set in his ways… I’m glad he had you.”

Jakes nodded, suddenly with an overwhelming urge to cry. He never _ever_ thought Thursday finding out about the two of them would end in the man thanking him. He thought it’d end in a prison sentence.

“Thank you, sir. For you know – not arresting me.” For approving of us went unspoken, but Thursday knew.

“The only person getting arrested is the bastard that took him.”

On that, they could agree on.

* * *

_“Endeavour Morse, are you ready to confess your sins?”_

Morse smiled. He couldn’t be serious. “You first.”

“My dear Endeavour, I have no sins.”

“You’ve kidnapped and killed three innocent people. You’re the worst of us.”

“They were repented for their sins, they deserved to die.”

The anger was back in the pit of Morse’s stomach, trying to lash out at the man but ended in him almost passing out from the pain.

Richard laughed at his fight. “The less you struggle the less painful it is.”

Morse spat at Richard. “Fuck you.”

“That’s not very kind Endeavour. Were you not taught to respect thy neighbour?” How Richard seemed so calm and collected was beyond Morse. How he could just perch on his chair as if he were having a perfectly normal conversation and the reciprocate wasn’t being practically crucified in front of him, the man must be insane.

“You’re not a neighbour you’re a piece of shit.” He had no idea what he was saying at this point. He couldn’t see through the blind rage from this psychopath trying to justify the murder of three people.

Richard rose swiftly from his seat, wrapping a hand around Morse’s throat. “How dare you.”

Morse struggled against him, desperately trying to move away from his clutch. He responded by pressing harder, undoubtedly bruising the soft skin around his neck.

He let go not a minute after, leaving Morse choking for air.

Richard took a deep breath. “Endeavour Morse, I have brought you here to confess you sins.”

Morse hardly took notice of him, still trying to suck air back into his lungs.

“Are you ready to confess?”

“I have… nothing to confess.” He said brokenly, his voice crackly.

“You are lying with another man. Do you deny?”

“That isn’t a sin.”

“It is. Do you want me to confirm it in the lords words?”

Morse just closed his eyes. The man was certifiably insane.

“Look at me! Confess your sins!”

“No. I won’t.” He will never apologise for loving Peter Jakes.

“Yes, you will.”

“You will never make me apologise for loving him. Never.” He spat the last word with such ferocity he felt he could almost break free, feeling a surge of power. Loving Peter was the best thing he’d ever done. He’d die before he made him say it.

“Seth said something similar. Don’t worry, I’ll come back tomorrow, you’ll change your tune.” Richard said almost chirpily, rising from his chair. How can that man’s mood switch so quickly?

And then he left, closing the door behind him, and leaving Morse screaming at the door in darkness.

* * *

24th March

Peter couldn’t sleep that night, not that he expected to. They’d called it a night just before midnight after circling around Oxford for almost four hours.

He went back to his flat, Morse’s was now cordoned off as a crime scene. He wondered if he’d ever be able to go back into that flat and not feel an empty pit in his stomach.

Peter’s flat was bad enough, though. Everywhere he looked reminded him of Morse, his record player in the living room, the pyjamas Peter bought him tucked under his pillow which smelled so blissfully of Morse it made him cry.

He’d changed into Morse’s burgundy jumper when he got in, finding comfort in the mans scent. It was hard not to wonder if these were the last opportunities he’d be able to breathe Morse in. And then he’d cried. Not a soft cry or even like Morse from the other night. It was an all-consuming cry; one so desperate and heartbroken it’d make any man weep for him.

In the space of an hour he’d lost everything.

Peter knew what it was like to lose people, to have people walk out of his life, but this was different. This was Endeavour. He wasn’t sure he’d come back from this kind of loss. So, he wept until there were no tears left to cry, until his voice was hoarse and broken, letting himself collapse in the middle of the living room, staring at the ceiling.

By the early hours of the morning he’d gone through three packets of cigarettes. He could hear Morse’s voice in his head, _they’ll send you to an early grave if you keep going through them like that._ Peter laughed at the irony. If he didn’t find Morse, he hoped they would.

Life without Morse wasn’t something he ever wanted to try. The man had his whole heart, his other half as Thursday had pointed out incidentally. He couldn’t live without him.

At some point he passed out on his living room floor from exhaustion.

* * *

Endeavour came back to consciousness with a bolt of fear.

For a few seconds he’d forgot where he was and why every part of him hurt, from the tips of his untameable curls to his numb toes. It was agony.

He had no idea how long he’d been out, had no sense of time in the four walled cage he found himself in. He only hoped Richard kept his promise to return the following day, so he’d know how much time he’d lost. How much time he had left.

If Morse was right, he was going to die on 26th March. Two days. It was an odd feeling, knowing when you’re going to die. It was bitterly ironic, for the first time in his life Morse had found something – someone – to live for and now he was being taken away from it. The first time in perhaps 10 years where he really did care about living.

He hoped more than anything Peter would be able to save him like he had so many times before, but he knew it was unlikely, impossible even, but he had to hold on for as long as he could for the slim chance of seeing Peter again.

The only way that bastard was taking him from this earth, from Peter, was if he took a knife to his throat.

* * *

Thursday picked Jakes up in the morning which was as unnatural as waking up on the living room floor alone and cold.

“You alright?”

Jakes nodded, brushing his hair to the side in an attempt to look like he hadn’t slept in his suit. He glanced to Thursday who looked how Jakes felt. He clearly hadn’t slept, but he had at least changed his clothes. “What about you?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Thursday admitted with a sigh. “I told Win, I had to. I was a bloody state when I got in.”

His honesty surprised Jakes, but at this point he wasn’t questioning it. He wanted to agree, tell him he was the same and he was one step from wrecking his flat in anger last night, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let the flood barrier down; Thursday would take him off the case for sure.

They spent the day finding Morse’s choir members, asking about the concerts and any people they knew that had spoken untowardly to Morse, but they were no help. Apparently, Morse just kept himself to himself, didn’t really speak to anyone to make them wish him ill. How very Morse.

They got back to the office just before five after running circles around the three churches, desperately trying to find something that could hint at Morse’s abductor but as usual found nothing. Peter just hoped Strange had stuck gold with the list of bloody tenants that seemed to be burning a hole in his mind.

* * *

Morse came to when he heard the door opening. Every time he opened his eyes it was harder to keep them that way. The pain in his head intensified by the minute, his stomach painfully empty and his mouth was drier than a desert in years of drought. The only mercy was the pain in his shoulders had numbed, but he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or if it meant his body was slowly giving up.

“Ah, Endeavour, nice nap?”

He grunted at him lowly, taking up more of his energy than it should have.

“You don’t look too well.” Richard stood agonisingly close, inches away from his face, inspecting him through his glasses with a critical eye.

“Fuck you.” Morse sputtered out, regretting rising to his jabs. He didn’t have the energy.

“I can’t let you die before I clean you of sin, my dear Endeavour. Are you ready to confess?”

Morse half smiled for a second. “Nothing… to confess.”

Richard shook his head, taking his seat. “Not this again, I thought we went through this yesterday.”

Morse thought. If he was going to die, he wanted to know why he killed the people he did, there must be a reason. “Tell me why… first.”

“Why what?”

“Why those three, why them.” He whispered weakly, the words cutting into his dry throat.

Richard smiled leaning back. “Is this how you’re going to play? Fine, I’m not in a rush and its hardly like you’ll live to tell the tale, look at you, you poor lamb.”

He leaned back, shuffling to find a comfortable position.

“I used to live in central Oxford in a nice little flat, I’d go to a church nearby and that’s when I first saw the corruption. People who took the lords good name and sinned behind his back. It was sickening.”

For the first time since he was taken, he felt a flicker of hope. Was he the person who’d spoken to Seth all that time ago? Was his name hidden in the last few names of old addresses? He could only pray it was. That was all they needed to suspect him, surely.

“And then I moved to South Oxford to be with my sister. I joined a different church, met a pleasant young woman, Faith. We got along well; dare I say I liked the girl… Then she told me of the divorce and all I could see was corruption, everywhere. And then my poor sister told me about her abortion, how she’d sleep with three a day sometimes.

“That was it. That was when I realised the lord was reaching out to me to rid this world of liars. Those who sinned even though they were supposedly devoting themselves to the lord.”

Morse couldn’t believe what he was saying. He was mad. Truly mad. Crazy enough to kill his own sister for gods sakes.

“And now, here I am with you, as I was with them. I’ll ask again, are you ready to confess?”

“Never.” He gritted out, voice like gravel.

“Come now, Endeavour. You don’t have the time to be stubborn, I’d be surprised if you survive the night.”

Morse wanted to retaliate, but he had to save his energy. He had to hold on. Had to stay strong for Peter.

Maybe sleeping will help preserve his energy, even if it didn’t at least he wouldn’t have to hear the incessant sound of Iverson’s voice.

And so, he slept with the dull flicker of hope someone would finish that _bloody_ list.

* * *

“Where’s Strange?” Jakes asked McNutt, throwing his coat over the arm of his chair.

McNutt glanced a look before returning to his papers. He never much liked Jakes and the fact his co-worker was missing didn’t spare him any courtesies. “Fatal fire incident at a factory, been there almost all day.”

Jakes shot him a look of disbelief. “But he’s meant to be working on the case!”

“There was no other senior officers available, he’ll be back soon I’m sure.”

Jakes had to take a deep breath to stop himself from punching something. “And what the hell were you doing?”

“Watch your tone sergeant. I’ve had court cases.”

Jakes stormed over to his desk, slamming his fist down on it. “You finished them yesterday!”

That got his attention, although he hadn’t got the angry response Jakes wanted. McNutt just shrugged, “There’s reports needing filing still.”

Jakes saw red. “DC Morse is _missing_ and if we don’t find him in two days he’s going to _die_! And you’ve taken someone off the case so you can file some fucking reports?!”

* * *

“Sergeant Jakes, my office, _now_.” Thursday ordered from behind him.

McNutt should be glad he chose not to respond because Jakes would have been sure to give him a bloody nose.

Thursday quickly closed the door before rounding on Jakes. “What the hell was that about?”

“He took Strange off the case! He was meant to be running the list and filing for missing cars. We needed that information!”

Thursday couldn’t help but sympathise with Jakes. “I know Jakes, I know how much we need those leads but what we don’t need is you getting suspended for insubordination.”

“But sir, Morse is out there somewhere, tied up and starving and we’re doing _nothing_ to stop it!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Thursday snapped back. “You think I don’t –“ He stopped himself from crossing a line but Jakes could fill in the blanks.

You think I don’t want him back as much as you?

Jakes knew how much Thursday valued Morse; it was just hard to comprehend other people’s hurt when his was just about killing him.

Thursday rubbed his face with his hands. “If you want to do something, run files for missing white cars, its too late in the day to start contacting landlords.”

“But sir, surely its worth a try?”

“Have you ever met a landlord that works past five o’clock?” Jakes reluctantly shook his head. “That’s what I thought, now go and look into those missing cars.”

Jakes sulked out of Thursdays office, careful not to slam the door on the way out.

Thursday slumped back into his seat, holding out his hands in front of him. They were shaking worse than after a heavy night on the town.

He quickly clenched them into fists and picked up his pipe to calm his nerves. Jakes was right, they’d made not nearly enough progress to find Morse and time was not on their side.

His mind drifted to Win and the kids and felt heavy with guilt. His family were safe so why did he feel like a member was missing? He picked up the phone, dialing the number he knew off by heart.

“Thursday residence.” Win spoke into the phone but he could tell the friendly voice that was always so natural was forced. She was worried.

“Its me pet.”

“Oh, Fred, have you found him?”

“Not yet love, but we will.”

“I know you will.” But she couldn’t hide the doubt.

He could tell she’d spent the day fretting over the lad. He felt guilty for telling her, for worrying her but he was inconsolable when he’d got home last night, and what if he didn’t tell her and then they found his body? That he’d kept it from her and then it was too late to take it all back. No, she’d have wanted to know, even if the truth hurt.

There was a long pause. “Are you alright, Fred?”

Fred made a strangled noise, trying to keep his calm. “I’ve been better. I just thought Id call and let you know it’ll probably be a late one tonight.”

Win sighed, she knew he wouldn’t rest until they had Morse back. “I thought that’d be the case, just don’t run yourself down, Fred, alright?”

“I won’t, pet. I’ve got to go.” He said, ushering his goodbyes and putting the phone down.

What would Win do if they didn’t find him? It was bad enough with Mickey Carter and Win had only met him on the odd occasion. She’d invited Morse into their home, into her family. Losing him would break her heart, he'd find Morse just to spare her from seeing the darkness of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Many. Emotions.  
> Sorry this took a few days its been a hectic few days lol  
> Thank you all for keeping up with the story and all the comments so far, you're all too kind ily <3
> 
> (Also I know McNutt isnt an arsehole but he just is in this story im sorry)


	11. You Can Drag Me Through Hell (If It Meant I Can Hold Your Hand)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the day before the feast

25th March

“Right, everyone is working this damn case today. Every single one of you, no McNutt I couldn’t care less about your reports. If we don’t crack this today a good officer dies.”

Jakes hung his head at Thursday’s words. The truth cut like a knife; this was it, tomorrow would be too late.

“I want patrols out; we’ll find every damn owner of a white car if we have to. Strange start that list of addresses, find the last nine names, Jakes you help.”

Thursday nods to Jakes to follow him to his office.

He closed the door anxiously behind him, pulling out another cigarette from his pocket. He’d managed to change his suit today after a shower where it’s sound drowned out Jakes crying. He still hadn’t slept. Couldn’t bear to lie in bed, even relax slightly without Morse.

“I’m going to call his sister; she deserves to know.”

Jakes wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he came in today, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Does she know about-“

“No. No, no one does. Well, apart from…”

“Right, that’s fine I thought I’d better check. Did you want to do it? You have more of a right to do it than me.”

Jakes appreciated his consideration, but Joyce didn’t know about their relationship, Jakes doing it instead of Thursday would certainly give the game away. “No, I, ugh, if I ever speak to her, I’d want it to be on different terms.”

Thursday nodded, “Alright, Jakes.”

He took his leave, not wanting to hear her voice down the phone. Morse hadn’t mentioned his sister much, just that they rarely called but were on good terms. He said he wanted to tell her about them, that of all the people she’d understand, welcome Peter with welcoming arms, but he never got around to it. Maybe now he never will.

He sat back into his chair, staring at all the files on his desk.

“Sergeant Jakes?” Peter looked up to Trewlove hovering by his desk. “Report of a stolen vehicle just came in, white Mustang.” She spoke calmly but she knew what the weight of the information held.

He blinked at her, holding out the report to him. “Shit, right I’m on it.” He took grabbed the report and hot footed it out of the station, coat forgotten.

* * *

Morse came to awareness slowly, he could feel something warm on his face put he couldn’t focus, could hardly open his eyes. Everything was heavy and every inch of him protested as he fought for consciousness.

Everything was numb now; the pain was almost gone leaving him disoriented and exhausted. The worst, though, was knowing what was happening, knowing his body was shutting down, giving up without permission.

He eventually opening his eyes after what felt an eternity, it took a moment to see Iverson’s face in front of him.

If he had any moisture in his mouth, he’d spit at him.

Morse feebly tried to move away from the vice grip Iverson had on his jaw. “Ah you’re awake. I was worried for a moment.”

Morse laughed, bare teethed. His kidnapper and soon to be murderer was _concerned_ about him, the whole scenario was insane.

“My, delirium shouldn’t set in yet.”

Morse stopped, trying his best to glare at him. “’M not.”

“Do you know what day it is today?”

Morse thought, ham and tomato? No, no that wasn’t a day of a week, but it was, wasn’t it? Or was it luncheon meat... No, he had no idea what day it was or how long he’d been here, rotting in some basement.

“Do you know what month it is?”

He was messing with him, right? Of course, he knew what month it was, unless he’d been here longer than a month but that wasn’t possible, was it? He couldn’t think straight, no he had no idea what month it was.

“What’s the year, Endeavour?” He said with a sly smile.

Year? No, it was a sick joke, he couldn’t have been here a year, he’d surely be dead by then.

“Your dear lover hasn’t come for you, Endeavour. They didn’t even try to look for you.”

Morse shook his head weakly. “No, you’re lying. You’re a liar.”

“Its May 6th, Morse. No ones coming.”

No. No, it couldn’t be. Had he really been here months? It certainly felt it, but it couldn’t be true. Peter wouldn’t give up on him. He loved Morse; he wouldn’t leave him here.

“You have nothing to lose Endeavour, confess your sins.”

Morse felt his eyelids droop. He was too tired for Iverson’s relentless questions.

“You fall asleep now and you’ll never wake up. I know.”

And god, Morse believed him. Every part of him was numb, the only thing he could feel was his splintering headache. He needed to keep grounded. He had to keep awake. He wasn’t going to die here.

“What are your sins, Endeavour?”

* * *

The car turned out to be nothing, Mr Pearson, the owner of the mustang, discovered his brother had borrowed it ten minutes after Jakes had arrived to question him and it made him want to punch a wall.

“Thank you for coming though.” He’d said gratefully.

“Yeah, thanks for wasting police time.” Jakes responded curtly turning on his heels. “Arsehole.” He muttered under his breath, slamming the door, and driving back to the station. Damn that man for wasting his precious fucking time.

“Anything?” He asked Strange, striding over to Strange’s desk.

“I’ve questioned two of them but it’s proving devilishly hard to get in touch with these last landlords, I’ve called a few at least twice and got no response.”

“Right, split them, you take these three, I'll get on these.” He said, tearing the list in half and making his way to his own desk.

* * *

By the time Thursday returned to the station at 3pm Jakes was getting restless and irritated. In the four hours since he’d been back, he’d managed to question two tenants and they certainly weren’t the ones behind it. One was a mother of four and the other was a young student who’d moved back home to Exeter, if he remembered correctly, he stopped paying attention once he knew she wasn’t behind the killings.

“Report Jakes.”

“Nothing Sir.”

Thursday sighed, leaning on Jakes’ desk. “I don’t know what to do.” He admitted quietly.

Jakes felt a pang of anxiety. If Thursday didn’t know, who did? He’d put all his hope in the man. He was the best detective he knew, other than Morse (not that he’d ever tell him). If he didn’t know what chance did they have?

The phone on Jakes desk burst to life, startling Jakes from his pit of worry. “Jakes.”

“Ah, detective, I’ve found the contact details you were after. It’s a Richard Iverson, his telephone number is 01865 673374, if that’s any use.”

Jakes jaw almost dropped to the desk in shock. He stared wide eyed at Thursday who was watching him with a concerned look.

Jakes wasn’t sure if the landlord – Mr Jackson? – was still speaking but he put the receiver down, or, more aptly, dropped the receiver in front of him.

“Jakes, what is it?”

“Iverson.”

“Charity?”

Jakes shook his head. “Richard.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s the best lead we’ve found. It ties him to both churches and how he’d know Morse.”

“Get the car round. We’re paying him a visit.”

And for the first time in 48 hours Jakes felt a flicker of hope. He only prayed he was right.

* * *

Morse was still awake, but he wasn’t aware anymore, unable to understand what Richard was saying to him.

At one point he was shouting in Morse’s face, something about blasphemy, perhaps. The longer he fought to hold on though, the more tired he became, the more he believed that Jakes wasn’t coming for him.

He didn’t want to give in to his exhaustion, but he couldn’t help it. His head felt like lead, like his muscles were disintegrating.

He couldn’t carry on.

So he didn’t.

* * *

“Sir… Sir what if this is him? Shouldn’t we be taking backup? A doctor?”

“We have no solid evidence yet, only he went to a church Seth attended and sister was one of the victims, its not enough to clear a warrant.”

Jakes nodded, keeping his eyes to the road. He knew Thursday was right but if Morse was there, and he prayed he was, they wouldn’t be able to help him.

“If we have any reason to doubt him, we’ll get DeBryn and a squad out.”

“He won’t need a _pathologist_ , Sir.”

“No, but he will likely need a doctor, and that’s exactly what DeBryn is.”

The certainty that Morse would need medical attention made him put his foot down to the accelerator harder.

It was surely the longest fifteen-minute drive of his life before they got to the driveway of Mr Iverson’s cottage, slowing down to pull up but Jakes slammed his foot on the break, throwing the Jag to a stop.

“Jakes! Are you trying to kill m-“ He looked to where Jakes was looking.

A white Ford Anglia.

Jakes turned to Thursday, desperate for him to see the certainty in his eyes. It had to be him. it had to be.

And Thursday had clearly agreed, quickly picking up the radio. “This is DCI Thursday, requesting immediate backup to Manor Road.”

“Location confirmed, over and out.” The crisp voice spoke back before the line died.

Jakes was about to jump out of the car and bash the front door down, but Thursday held him back with a strong arm.

“Jakes, calm down. The car might be purely coincidental, this man could be completely innocent. We can’t go in there all guns blazing. And if Morse is in there it could put him at risk. Alright? We need to go in level-headed.”

Jakes knew Thursday didn’t believe in coincidences, but he did have a point. They couldn’t risk Iverson hurting Morse.

“I'll take the lead. Keep your head down.”

Thursday knocked on the door as gently as he could, making his anxiety.

The door opened revealing a chirpy looking Richard Iverson.

“Ah, lovely to see you again. Inspector Thursday, wasn’t it?”

Thursday tightened his jaw and strained a smile. “That’s right, Mr Iverson.”

“Well, do come in, is anything the matter?” He asked, stopping to stand in the living room in front of the two men.

“Mr Iverson, is it correct that you used to live on Adelaide street until February of last year?”

“Yes, that’s correct, great location but too noisy for my liking.”

Jakes fists were clenched so tight he almost drew blood. Morse was here, he had to be.

“And in that time, you met a Seth Harrison.”

Richard stared blankly through his glasses as if he were trying too hard to think. “No, the name doesn’t ring a bell I’m afraid.”

“You’re lying. You told him sleeping with a man was a sin and that he wasn’t welcome at the church.”

Thursday dared a glance to Jakes in an attempt to get him to shut up.

“Of course not, why would I say something like that?”

Thursday stepped in but continued Jakes’ lead. “His friend had reason to believe someone who’d recently moved out of the area quoted the bible at him once, making him uncomfortable to return to the church. Do you know a lot of verses in the bible, Mr Iverson?”

“Not many off the top of my head, what are these questions about?”

“Where is he?” Jakes snapped, taking an aggressive step forward.

“I’m sorry?”

Jakes eyes were dark with anger. “Where. Is. He.”

“Sergeant.” Thursday warned.

Jakes took no notice. “Your car was seen outside of Morse’s flat the night you took him. You killed Seth Harrison for being gay. You killed your own sister, god knows why. And you have Morse now.”

“Inspector? What is all of this.”

Thursday was beginning to lose it. The more Jakes repeated the evidence, the more he believed the man in front of him had Morse. “Do you deny it?”

“Of course, I do, this is preposterous!”

“Well, you wont mind us taking a look around then?”

He wasn’t sure where the hell Richard Iverson had got a hand gun from but it was now pointed at Thursday.

“I admit, I’m impressed, even if it was my own slip ups that brough you to me.”

Jakes didn’t take his eyes off Iverson. “Where is he?”

“Likely in the pits of hell by now. He wasn’t a strong one for a copper.”

“Put the gun down Iverson.” Thursday said calmly, watching as the gun didn’t waver.

“Or what? You’ll hit me? Two men against one gun, even if I miss ill have five more attempts.”

“You pull that trigger you don’t walk out of here alive.”

“You talk a lot for a dead man.”

“You’re insane.” Jakes said, watching the scene before him.

“Yes, your boyfriend kept saying that before he died.”

Jakes saw red.

“You bastard!” He was grateful the old man was slow in swerving his aim to him before he struck his arm into the crook of Iverson’s elbow, making Iverson fire the gun into the ceiling.

He dislodged the gun from his hand in another swift punch to his wrist before rounding and elbowing him in the face, breaking his glasses, making him fall back onto the floor.

Thursday was quick to help restrain the man, turning him onto his front, hands behind his back. Jakes had a knee in the man’s spine, pushing him into the floor. “Where is he?!”

“He’s rotting in hell for his sins.” Iverson ground into the carpet with a wicked smile.

Jakes fisted the hair on the back of Iverson’s head, lifting it off the floor before crushing it back to the floor making Iverson cry out. Before he had time to catch a breath Jakes pulled his head again and trampled it back down, again and again, screaming in a fit of rage.

He wasn’t going to stop. He was going to kill him for taking Morse from him, but hands dragging him off Iverson thwarted his plans, releasing him from the possession he was under.

“Jakes!” Thursday yelled, holding an him to the floor beside Iverson’s unconscious body.

Jakes blinked and flinched like he’d just woken up from a nightmare.

Thursday let him go once he’d seen him calm down. They knelt staring at each other, unsure about what to say, what to do next.

“Search the house, you take upstairs.”

Jakes nodded slowly, still in shock at the way he’d lashed out against Iverson. It wasn’t even self-defence.

He brushed himself off as he stood and quickly started turning over every room in the house, but Morse was nowhere. Had Iverson already moved Morse’s body? No, he couldn’t think like that.

He wondered what verse was carved into Morse’s arm as he found another empty room until –

“Jakes!”

* * *

Thursday found a utility room in the back of the house off the kitchen. He was beginning to lose hope. Morse wasn’t here.

He went to move back to the kitchen when he tripped on a hinge on the floor. Oh god no. He couldn’t decide if he really bloody hoped Morse was down there or if he really hoped the lad hadn’t been trapped in a basement for days.

He swung the heavy door open, wondering how Iverson ever managed to lift it and found a light switch dangling from the top of the stairs leading to darkness.

“He turned the light on and followed the steps into a shallow corridor that lead into a room that Thursday presumed was under the living room, there room was empty save a few gardening tools and cleaning products, a perfectly normal basement. Until his eyes settled on a metal door in the corner of the room.

Shit.

Thursday was at the door in seconds, yanking at the handle but it was locked without any budge. “Morse!”

He knew he was in there even without seeing it, Win would call it a parental instinct.

“Shit. Morse! Hold on.” He quickly turned and darted up the stairs. “Jakes!”

Jakes ran down the stairs so fast Thursday thought he’d fallen but he barrelled round the corner seconds later, fear clouding his eyes.

“Find his keys. He’s down there.”

Jakes almost threw up from the shear panic in Thursday’s voice.

* * *

Jakes sprinted back to where he’d left Iverson, fisting his pockets trying to find his keys but the man didn’t have them.

“Shit.”

He scanned the surfaces of the living room, darting around helplessly.

Coat. He grabbed it from the peg by the door, sure enough feeling the clink of keys. Bingo.

“Sir!”

He didn’t stop to tell him he’d found them; it was apparent from the way he charged past him down the basement stairs where Thursday quickly followed.

He scrambled for the keys, trying to find which one fit. Who needed so many keys? Was the right key even on there? He was almost halfway through trying to force different shaped keys into the lock before one fell in place.

Jakes breath hitched when he turned the lock.

The scene that greeted them as he swung the door open shattered his heart into irredeemable pieces.

Morse was bare chest, wearing only his suit trousers, not even socks and fuck it was freezing down there. There was dried blood running from under the thorn _fucking_ crown all the way to his waistline making his pale chest look almost transparent against the crusted red.

His arms were bound out to the side and his wrist and hands were coated crimson, hanging limply like the rest of him.

“Morse!”

Jakes found his hands on Morse’s blood-stained cheeks before he even registered his feet moving. “Morse? Endeavour? It’s me, it’s Peter.” Morse didn’t stir at all, head dangling heavily.

Jakes instinctively reached to his bruised throat, looking for a pulse.

He could hear Thursday to the side of him working at the rope, but his eyes were fixed on Morse.

he couldn’t feel a pulse. No, please don’t be – there.

A weak, slow beat under Jakes’ shaking fingers.

He let out a breath. “He’s alive.”

Thursday audibly sighed in relief, letting his darkest fear move back into the corner of his mind. “There!” Thursday exclaimed, easing Morse’s now free arm down to his side.

Jakes quickly moved into Morse, letting his weigh rest on him as Thursday worked at the other side.

He reached up, gingerly taking the metal ring of pain off Morse’s head. He didn’t realise how heavy that thing would be.

He hoped he killed Iverson in a flash of rage, and the worst thing was he meant it. He wanted Iverson to die for what he did to Morse, for what he did to his other victims and Jakes had no idea how to feel about it.

He was just glad he was holding onto Morse again. “Morse? Morse, I need you to wake up, darlin’.”

His cheeks reddened, knowing Thursday could hear but he didn’t care.

Thursday managed to undo the other rope, revealing another abraded wrist and it twisted Jakes’ gut picturing Morse fighting against the stained ropes.

Jakes lowered Morse to the floor, immediately throwing his coat over him. “Morse? Can you hear me?”

He frowned at Thursday who was rubbing his hands down Morse’s arms. “Getting the circulation back.” He explained.

Jakes looked back to Morse, cupping his jaw whilst his thumb stroked his cheekbone. “Endeavour, please. Wake up.”

As if on cue Morse let out a small whimper, eyes clamping shut as if he was trying to move away from Peter’s touch.

“Morse! It's me, it's Peter, you’re safe now. Please, Morse.”

Morse opened his eyes slightly, setting on Peter. “Pe’r?”

Jakes couldn’t hold back the tears that were threatening to spill since they’d found him, letting them fall down his cheeks. “Its, me Endeavour. You’re safe, I’m never letting you go again.”

Morse smiled weakly but the action made him arch into a painful series of coughs.

“You’re okay, Morse, I’ve got you.”

“Don’ feel s’ good Pe’r.” And god, he didn’t look it either. His eyes were dilated and barely focused, his lips so dry they’d split in two places, not to mention the lines of blood tattooed down his face.

“Shit, get an ambulance!” Thursday silently obliged, hurling himself back up the stairs.

“Hey, Morse, just hold on a little longer okay? Helps coming.”

Morse just stared up at him, using all of his energy to focus on Peter and he could see everything so clearly, love, gratitude, _fear_.

“You’ll be alright, love. I’ve got you.” Jakes repeated, letting his hands run over his coat to warm him up.

Morse gave him a weak smile before Jakes saw his eyes roll into his head.

“Morse!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my days.   
> I was so tempted to be like "and the room was empty" but 1. I couldn't do that to you guys, 2. I couldn't do that to peter and 3. I'd have to figure out where he'd gone and like?? This story plot was hard enough to think of without that extra issue lol   
> We've finally got our boy back though... kind of *YAY*   
> Will always appreciate feedback, even if it's violently bashing random words onto ur keyboard xx thanks for sticking with me


	12. This is Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DeBryn to the rescue!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANOTHER update?? I know someone take my laptop off me, I cant stop. I do kind of struggle writing DeBryn so bear with me folks... Enjoy!!

Max DeBryn wasn’t a stickler for punishment, once his shift finished for the day he would retreat to his cottage, tuck into the dinner he’d left cooking and enjoy a drop of brandy. But not today. Today he would sit at his desk, distracting himself with reports he didn’t really need to file with the small hope he’d get a call along the lines of ‘Morse needs you’. He wasn’t sure what they had against the assigned surgeon for the station but when it came to Morse at least it was always him.

He’d even gone to the effort of making a case containing all the medications someone with severe dehydration would need, including an IV and plenty of bandages because no doubt Morse will have got himself banged up even if he was tied in place.

That kit was DeBryn’s hope. Hope that they’d find Morse before it was too late.

If he got the call asking for his pathological help, he’d throw something. A big thing, possibly yell too, and other irrational things people do when dealing with grief.

And then the phone rang, and his breath caught in his throat, dreading what the voice will say.

“DeBryn.”

“Doc, it’s Strange, backups been requested at Richard Iverson’s house. I’ll be outside in five minutes if you’re free.”

“I’ll be there.”

There was no need asking questions, if Strange knew anything of Morse’s condition he’d have told him, so he quickly slipped into his well-loved beige duffle coat and picked up both the ‘Morse case’ and his pathology case, hoping he wouldn’t need the latter.

Strange was on time to the minute, leaning over to open the passenger door from the inside for DeBryn.

He slipped into the seat quickly. Usually he would have put his bags in the boot, but he couldn’t afford those luxuries, time was of the essence.

“Doc.” Strange greeted, putting his foot down as soon as DeBryn closed the door.

“Sergeant.”

“They didn’t say they’d found him, but I thought best be prepared.”

“For what eventuality are you thinking?”

“Any. I just hope it’s a doctor they’ll need, not…”

DeBryn raised an eyebrow. “Quite.”

Part way through the drive they’d caught up with the car with two PCs, Trewlove and McNutt.

Both cars skidded to a halt outside the cottage to be greeted by Thursday running out to meet them.

“Doctor!” He shouted to DeBryn who quickly rose out of the car.

The urgency in Thursdays voice gave DeBryn the information he needed. Dead people didn’t require urgency.

He promptly picked up Morse’s kit and hurried over to Thursday who led the way. They moved through the living room past a man, presumably Mr Iverson, face down and unconscious but he chose not to question it. if he was the man behind these killings and Morse’s attempted murder the man deserved worse.

They stopped by an open trapdoor in a side room off the kitchen and he looked to Thursday with questioning eyes.

His nod confirmed his fears. Damnit basements weren’t made for human habitation, god knows what mould Morse had been breathing in for days.

DeBryn descended the dark stairs first, eyes instantly going to the open door on the other side of the room where a pair of bare footed legs were in view.

He quickly found Morse laid out flat on the floor, blood coating most of the skin he could see, the rest covered by Jakes’ coat.

Jakes looked up to him with desperation. _Fix him_ went unspoken.

DeBryn wasted no time dropping to his on the other side of Morse, putting his fingers to Morse’s neck, noting the purpling bruising. “I presume an ambulance has been called?” Morse’s pulse was concerningly weak.

Jakes nodded, not taking his eyes off Morse.

DeBryn quickly took the jacket off Morse, showing a relatively unscathed chest, save for the blood stains, but they were from the cuts under his hairline.

“Is he going to be alright?” Jakes stuttered out, eyeing the doctors movements attentively.

“As I’ve only just arrived, I’ll refrain from such judgements for now, but I have hope.”

Jakes nodded, DeBryn’s professionalism sobering him up slightly.

DeBryn opened the case and pulled out some alcohol wipes to clean his hand. “Inspector, if you could hold this for me.” He passed him a bag of IV before wiping Morse’s right hand clean from blood and inserting a cannula attached to the IV line.

“He’s severely dehydrated, the saline solution will work to counter that along with replenishing his vitamin levels.” He explained as he worked.

“There’s not a lot I can do, the incisions on his head need stitches, and his wrists need wrapping properly but this will have to do for now.” Max was busy cleaning around the torn skin on Morse’s wrists and tightly wrapping a bandage around it in an attempt to prevent infection from the less than sanitary basement floor. It’s a wonder if anyone had ever cleaned down there.

“Why won’t he wake up?”

“He’s exhausted and dehydrated Jakes, he hasn’t eaten for almost three days, four knowing Morse’s lack of self-preservation. It’s a wonder he’s breathing at all.”

Jakes audibly swallowed, placing a protective hand on Morse’s shoulder.

“He’s going to be alright, Peter, we got him in time.”

He looked up to Thursday stood behind him, still holding the IV fluid, where he gave DeBryn a grateful smile.

They could hear heavy footsteps coming across the room above them before some came from behind them.

The paramedics quickly assessed Morse, commending DeBryn hooking up an IV, Max knew if he hadn’t it could have been too late. His body was too dehydrated to have lasted the journey to the hospital, not that he’d tell Jakes or Thursday that.

“The stairs are too steep for the stretcher; we’ll need to carry him.” One medic said, looking to the male paramedic lingering in the door frame. The man nodded and moved forward.

“No.” Jakes said strongly, moving his arm under Morse’s shoulder blades and lifting him into his chest. “I’ll do it.”

The medic nodded, retreating up the stairs to wait at the top.

“Be careful not to tug at the cannula.” DeBryn warned as Jakes placed his other arm under the crook of Morse’s knees and struggled to his feel.

Morse was worryingly light, it was Jakes’ shaking knees that caused the strain in his movements, frightened to hurt Morse more.

Thursday followed closely behind as Jakes ascended the stairs, DeBryn in tow.

When they got to the ground floor Jakes didn’t let Morse go, carrying him all the way to ambulance, Morse’s head leaning in the nook of Jake’s shoulder.

His heart went out to the man. He may not have been in the room when the truth came out in Morse’s flat but DeBryn had had his suspicions for a while now, that day simply confirmed them.

Jakes lowered Morse to the stretcher and Thursday handed the IV fluid to one of the medics, letting them whisk Morse away.

He quickly stepped to Jakes who was stood painfully still watching the ambulance disappear in the distance. He shrugged off his jacket and placed it over Jakes’ shoulders, making him blink back into reality.

Jakes didn’t speak though, just looked at the doctor through broken eyes.

“Thursday, if you could be so kind to get my case from the car.” Luckily, he didn’t need it for its usual purpose, but it did contain antiseptic wipes and a cloth and he’d rather clean Jakes’ hands before he noticed them.

DeBryn put his hands on Jakes’ shoulders. “Sergeant look at me. You’re in shock, just focus, alright? Deep breaths.”

Thursday silently passed him the case and wondered back into the house.

DeBryn quickly found the cloth and took Jakes’ blood covered hand, kneeling by his kit.

“Oh god.” Jakes moaned from above him, clearly catching sight of his hands.

DeBryn was thankful for his years of experience to know to rise out of the way quickly before Jakes emptied his stomach beside him. He wasn’t much one for bedside manner, so he simply put a hand on Jakes’ back, running comforting circles.

Apparently, Jakes leaning over made it difficult to stand back up, slowly lowering himself to pebbled drive of Iverson’s cottage.

DeBryn adjusted the coat on his shoulders which had almost fallen off from the movement. “It’s easier if you don’t look.” He said, kneeling back down to continue cleaning Jakes’ hand.

DeBryn was finding it more difficult to detach himself from the situation the more time went by. This was Morse, his friend, not another stranger. His friend that was currently on death’s doors after suffering days of torture.

But even through his hurt and anguish, he knew it would be nothing compared to how Peter must be feeling. “He’s going to be okay, Peter.”

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever used the sergeants first name before but there were certain circumstances in life where it seemed appropriate, this being one of them.

Jakes just shook his head, staring at his red hands. “You don’t know that.”

No, he didn’t. Morse could have a brain bleed or multiple organ failure for all he knew but thinking that way would help no one.

“Morse is the most stubborn man I’ve ever known; he won’t give up this easily.” Not that there was anything easy about it. Nothing easy in being tied up for days, exhausted and disorientated, not to mention the bone shaking fear he must have felt.

It made Jakes smile slightly though.

Thursday appeared out of the cottage behind them, trying not to look at Peter’s stomach contents. “Got another ambulance coming for Iverson.”

Jakes visibly reddened, suggesting to DeBryn it was Jakes responsible for the state Iverson was in on the living room floor.

“Yes, good thinking inspector. Was a mighty shame he fell down the stairs like that.”

Thursday immediately cottoned on, smiling slightly. “Yes, well, accidents happen.”

Jakes, however, wasn’t as fast at understanding. “Sir?” He clearly was expecting to be reprimanded for assaulting Iverson, but surely he knew Thursday, nor DeBryn, would let that happen, especially after everything the man had done.

“He fell down the stairs, Jakes. That’s what the official report will say, that’s what you will tell people if asked.”

Jakes felt a flash of gratitude, even though he didn’t feel he deserved it. “Yes, sir.”

“Right, we’ll leave the PCs to finish off here, forensics are on their way. Jakes do you want to come with me to the hospital?”

Jakes nodded, finding his way to the passenger side.

“If it’s all the same, inspector, I think I’ll come too.”

“And me.” Strange added coming out of the house after being left in charge of Iverson.

“Well, then, best be off.” Thursday said, stepping into the drivers side.

DeBryn wondered if Morse knew how many of them truly cared for him as they all squeezed into the Jag.

* * *

Jakes made a mental note to visit DeBryn when this was over and gift him a fine bottle of brandy. If it weren’t for him, Jakes would have had the most monumental breakdown ever seen by Cowley CID, he was very glad the older man had kept him together and saved him the embarrassment.

And now they sat in silence in the sterile smelling waiting room of Cowley General, waiting to receive news on Morse’s condition.

Jakes clenched his fists in an attempt to stop the shaking, dying for a cigarette.

Thursday suggested a few times that he could just pop out for a few minutes, but Peter was afraid as soon as he left the doctor would come with bad news and he wouldn’t be there for Morse. So, he sat, clenched so tight it left dark crescent marks in the palm of his hands.

After an hour of waiting a doctor finally walked in their direction, stopping a few meters away, aware of the four sets of eyes staring at him.

“I’m Doctor Murphy, I’ve been tending to Mr Morse.” He paused to see if any of them wanted to introduce themselves but none of them were in the mood for formalities and he and DeBryn were already acquainted.

“Mr Morse has been moved into a private room and is currently being treated for acute kidney injury as a result of dehydration. His blood pressure is beginning to stabilise now we have him on a glucose solution and he’ll be kept on an IV for the next several days to fully hydrate.

“We’ve wrapped his wrists and head, luckily the head wounds weren’t too deep and only required a few stitches so aren’t necessarily a worry. The concern now is the liver and concussion.” The doctor paused as if he was thinking of how to word his next part. “Mr Morse suffered a grade 4 concussion two days ago and has been left untreated which may result in post-traumatic headaches when he wakes, but they should pass in around seven days so long as other complications don’t arise.”

Jakes didn’t want to hear the rest, had they no good news?

“You boy was lucky, another few hours and his prognosis may not have been so bright.”

Well, that told him.

“After treatment he should make a full recovery.”

Thursday smiled in relief. “Thank you, doctor.”

“Can we see him?” Jakes finally asked. Seeing Morse was all he cared about right now, diagnosis be damned as long as he was alive.

“Of course, if you’d like to follow me?”

DeBryn stood up next to them. “Well, gentlemen I’ll take my leave now I know he’ll be alright. I’ll visit him tomorrow before my shift tomorrow.”

“I’ll run you home, doc.” Strange gave Peter an awkward nod before the two went for the exit.

Jakes made a note that maybe before visiting DeBryn he needed a sit down with Jim Strange to set the record straight. If he knew him, he was probably just hurt he didn’t tell him before it all came out.

He and Thursday followed Doctor Murphy to the fourth floor of the hospital, finding Morse lying silently with too many tubes poking into him.

The IV stand held the saline and glucose solution, trying to replenish what Morse was so badly deprived from for days. There was a mask over Morse’s mouth and nose, helping him breathe, his forehead covered by bandages.

Jakes felt a pang of protectiveness realising the doctors had washed him, his hair now clean from the blood and dirt that was matted into it. His arms lay above the sheets, wrists awkwardly bandaged to allow for the cannula. He was paler than usual, if that was possible, either that or the horrid purple hand shaped bruises around his neck just gave a harsh contrast.

Jakes wished he could see Iverson, give him his own bruised fucking neck.

He wanted to move to Morse, take his hand and murmur stupid nothings into his ear until he woke up, but he couldn’t, aware of Thursdays presence beside him.

“I’ll go grab another chair.” Thursday said, letting Peter have a moment to himself.

He wasted no time rounding the bed to Morse’s side and picking up his limp hand. “Hey Morse, It’s Peter. You’re gonna’ be okay, darlin’.” He whispered, placing a soft kiss to Morse’s knuckles.

“I’m not going anywhere, so you just focus on getting better. I’ll be right here with you, okay? I’m not letting you out of my sight again, even if you’ll hate me for it.” Peter wondered why he was trying to make a light-hearted conversation to an unconscious Morse, but it was definitely making him feel better.

“I love you, Endeavour, more than anything. Never forget that.” He murmured into Morse’s hand, feeling the warmth of his breath against him.

Thursday came in seconds later carrying an uncomfortable looking plastic chair, pretending he didn’t see Jakes jump back in his seat when he entered. 

“It’s all I could find I’m afraid.” He said, placing it next to the chair Jakes was sat on.

Thursday leaned back into the seat which squeaked in protest. “I’m getting too old for this.” He said in a low voice, watching the rise and fall of Morse’s chest.

“Its alright sir, it's getting late, you don’t need to stay.”

“I do, he’s my bagman, Jakes. I know it’s different now he has someone looking out for him but he’s still…” _Still family_. “I’m staying until he wakes up, so you best be getting used to my company.” He said lightly, flashing a small smile.

Jakes nodded, settling back into his seat, feeling awkward in the silence settling around them.

“Bet he’s a bloody pain to live with.” Thursday said suddenly, cutting through the tension.

Jakes huffed. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“I can only imagine. At least his shirts seem to be cleaned regularly now.”

“That’s me, resident laundry man, not that he bothers to hang them up or even fold them afterwards.”

Thursday smiled. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Jakes smirked back. “His liver certainly is.”

Thursday chuckled. “I’m sure he doesn’t thank you for that part.”

“No, but I was getting tired peeling him off the living room floor at stupid o’clock.” He shot back jokingly, both men laughing. 

“I just don’t know how he’ll be after all this.” He said quietly after a long pause. “It’s hard enough getting him to eat as it is, let alone now. It’ll be weeks before he can have anything solid, knowing him he won't even want it then.”

“If you’re having trouble with that, just let me know. The lads too nervous to turn down Win's dumplings.” Thursday said in an uplifting tone, trying to not let Jakes drown in worry.

Jakes laughed at the image of Morse sat at the Thursday table forcing a large portion of stew down.

“It's going to be hard, Jakes. God knows what he went through down there but its going to leave a mark on him. if it ever gets too much or you just want help, you know where to find me, alright?”

Jakes nodded.

“You promise?”

Peter gave him a meaningful smile. “I promise, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fully couldnt get @Hekate1308's comment of 'dont worry baby your dad and husband are coming' out of my head which is what kind of fueled the last part of this chapter. I didnt want to exclude Thursday from this part of Morse's recovery since its always him by Morse's side when Jakes isnt there so why should it change when he is? ThursDAD 4 lyf 
> 
> thank u guys for keeping up with my speedy updates and your lovely comments - they make my day <3  
> also feel free hmu on tmblr @ImYourSavingGrace because I have no idea what I'm doing there


	13. Safe and Sound

Unlike Jakes who’d fallen asleep after a few hours sitting by Morse’s bedside, physically and emotionally exhausted, Fred was still on edge, still in disbelief they’d not only solved the unsolvable case but saved Morse too. And ironically, they couldn’t have done it without the lad, forever obsessing over the list everyone had flipped off as useless.

It certainly didn’t look like Jakes was in a comfy position, his chin resting on his chest, crumpling his collar and hands stuffed into his trouser pockets as he slept in the painful plastic chair.

He looked to Morse who was still unnervingly pale, if he couldn’t see his chest rising and falling and the dull beeping of the heart monitor, Fred didn’t think he’d look out of place in a morgue. He hadn’t moved at all since they were allowed to see him, not even a twitch of a finger, it was unsettling. Morse who constantly fidgeted and ran around like a silly bugger lay in front of him completely still. It was horridly unnatural, like the world had stopped turning.

He stepped out to give Win a quick call since it was getting past 10pm and she’d no doubt be getting ready to go to sleep. He didn’t want to worry her about the grim details, only that Morse was safe and being treated in hospital and of course he’d stay with him until he was alright, and when he came back to Morse’s room a nurse was replacing the IV.

She gave him a sympathetic smile as he eased back into the chair. “You should go home sir, its unlikely he’ll wake for at least 24 hours, he’s still on general anaesthetic.”

Thursday returned the smile, but the nurse was wasting her breath. “I think we’ll stay if its all the same, miss.” Good luck trying to get Jakes out of this room without giving him enough tranquilizer to knock a horse out, he mused with a slight grin.

“You family?”

“Closest thing to it.”

She smiled and left the room, leaving Fred to finally get some rest, knowing Win was happy, Jakes was sleeping, and Morse was safe.

* * *

Miraculously He’d managed almost a full nights sleep, waking just after seven to find both Morse and Jakes still asleep, although he suspected Jakes had woken in the night for a while since his chair was closer to the bedside and Jakes’ was leant over, head resting on the mattress and one hand in Morse’s.

Fred felt a wave of sorrow, thinking how hard, frustrating, it must be to keep their relationship secret. He couldn’t image trying to hide Win and him, he loved taking her out, going dancing, even holding her hand in public, and he hated they could never have that. So, he let Jakes have this moment, sleeping in the warm comfort of his lovers hand, whilst he went to grab some coffee.

When he came back Jakes was awake with his head in his hands, still looking worn out.

He looked up to Thursday as he entered with his back pushing the door open, a coffee in each hand.

“Thought you’d need it.” He smiled, handing Jakes one of the plastic cups as he sat back.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Sleep okay?”

“Not great, but still better than the last few nights.” He replied, eyes not leaving Morse.

“Nurse said he isn’t going to wake up for at least another twelve hours, if you wanted to pop home and change.”

“No.” Jakes immediately refused. “I, ugh, I’m fine. I’m not leaving, if it’s all the same.”

Thursday sighed wishing Jakes could see the state he was in. “You need to change your shirt at least; you’re scaring the nurses.” He intended it to come out as a joke, but Jakes didn’t seem amused.

Peter looked down to see the blood spattered on his shirt from carrying Morse, turning a few shades paler.

“Look, I’ve still got a key to Morse’s flat, I can pick you something up on my way home?”

Jakes blinked as if to ask why Thursday had a key, but he didn’t have the energy to question him. “Ugh, yeah that’d be great, if its not too much trouble.”

“Not at all, just a shirt?”

“Yeah, yeah that’ll be fine.”

“Okay, I shouldn’t be long.” He said, almost reluctant to leave just in case anything happened during his leave.

He knew he was being silly. Morse had Jakes there with him, he just found it irrationally hard to trust someone else with something so important.

* * *

Fred arrived at Morse’s flat to find the police cordon had been removed and quickly let himself in. The blood hadn’t been cleaned but the smashed bottle was gone now, which was something.

He looked around the small living room, aware for the first time visiting Morse’s bedsits that it looked like a home, not just a temporary let, and it made him smile.

There were books scattered around the room, even some photos on the shelves, which when he looked closer were of Morse that Peter had clearly taken, and even one photo of Jakes, smiling like a Cheshire cat at the camera. He could picture Morse stood where Fred was now, complaining to Jakes about how much he hated the picture but as usual Jakes winning out. Morse never did like pictures of himself and after Gull it only got worse.

He found the camera responsible on the side table in the living room. The photo of Morse and his Mother he had seen before was pride of place on the mantle, now in a dark wooden frame which was definitely Jakes’ doing. There was a note beside it, undoubtedly Morse’s scrawny handwriting _‘Gone to work, pick Thursday up at 8? M._ ’ Fred couldn’t help but think how much everything had changed since Morse had scribbled that note out. 

He eventually wandered into Morse’s bedroom, finding Jakes’ shirt in the wardrobe, and folding it into a carrier bag. He almost left before catching eyes on the packet of cigarettes on the chest of draws and put them in the bag too. Jakes would thank him later.

* * *

Thursday had been gone almost fifteen minutes now and since then Peter hadn’t let go of Morse’s hand, idly talking to him.

“Me and your substitute dad had a chat last night. I think he likes me.” Peter murmured lightly, stroking a thumb across Morse’s knuckles.

“I think we’ve upset Strange though; he hasn’t looked me in the eye since he found out.” Jakes continued rambling, hoping he could hear him and find comfort in his voice.

“And soon we’re going to invite DeBryn round for dinner and shower him in brandy for saving your ass.”

“I don’t think it was just his ‘ass’ I saved, but I accept the offer either way.” DeBryn said stood in the doorway, looking rather pleased at the shocked look painted over Jakes’ face.

Jakes immediately dropped Morse’s hand like it was a hot furnace, jumping back into his chair.

“It’s alright, Jakes. I think we’re past that now.”

Jakes gave him a guilty smile, relaxing slightly. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you there.”

“It’s quite alright. I was just dropping by to see how he was doing before my shift.”

Jakes nodded, watching DeBryn move to the other side of Morse’s bed. “Well, it's certainly an improvement from yesterday, nice to see he’s got some colour back.”

Jakes nodded; he did look a lot healthier, but he wasn’t sure if that was just be because he wasn’t covered in blood anymore.

“How are you?”

Jakes blinked. “Me?”

“Who else would I be asking?”

“But there’s nothing wrong with me, I wasn’t the one who almost died.” Jakes retorted, confused why on earth DeBryn was concerned with him when it was Morse in a hospital bed.

DeBryn raised an eyebrow and pushed his glasses up his nose, the sign he was usually about to say something rather blunt. “No, but you were the one who almost lost a loved one. That’s hard to process.”

He should have known that was coming but the doctors directness threw him off guard, unsure how to reply.

“I keep having dreams, well, nightmares...” Jakes admitted in a low voice, almost ashamed. “I keep dreaming that we were too late, that-” He shook his head; it was too painful to think about. Instead he stared at Morse’s chest, trying to breathe in time to him.

Max bowed his head. “I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”

“I’m not sure if I’ll ever forget what happened, if ill ever stop seeing it.” Jakes wasn’t sure why he was being so honest, but it felt nice to confide in someone, especially since he doubted he’d ever tell Morse.

“I don’t suspect you will, but it’ll be easier over time.”

Jakes nodded but he doubted DeBryn was right. Seeing Morse lifeless and bloody would never get easier to think of, etched into his memory like a painful tattoo.

…

Like Piccadilly Circus, as one person left another came, this time bringing Strange who looked like he had no idea what he was doing, standing awkwardly by the door as if he were waiting for an invitation.

“Wotcher.” Jakes said casually, too tired to worry about how the conversation might go.

“Alright Jakes, mind if I ugh-“

“Yeah, come in.” Jakes watched him uneasily move into the room, closing the door behind him.

“How is he?”

“Getting there.”

Strange nodded. “Glad to hear it.”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. Thought I’d come and update you on everything, unless you’d rather I –“

“No, no, go on. I wanna’ know what I’ve missed.”

Strange nodded, eyes trained on Morse. “Iverson confessed, he’s been charged with the murders of Faith, Charity and Seth and attempted murder of ugh.. He’d be lucky to see the light of day again once Bright finished with him.”

“Good.” Jakes said simply. He could rant about how they should bring back the death sentence for bastards like him, but he knew he would be wasting his breath.

“Well, ugh I should probably be off.” Strange said, rubbing his hands together as he always did in an uncomfortable situation.

Jakes sighed, Strange clearly wasn’t going to bring up the elephant in the room. “Look, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“About the fact you haven’t been able to even look at me since we were in Morse’s flat.”

“Oh, ugh, sorry I guess it was just ah… bit of a surprise.”

Jakes tried to read the ‘surprise’, deciding if he meant he was surprised they were sleeping together or surprised that they’d kept it from him.

“Look, it wasn’t like I didn’t want to tell you, we both wanted you to know, but no one knew about us… we thought it was safer that way.” And look how that turned out, Peter thought grimly.

Strange nodded, taking it as an apology. “I wouldn’t have told anyone.”

“I know, its just the longer it went on, the harder it got. And it was hardly something that’d spring up in a normal conversation.”

Strange huffed a laugh. “Yeah, that’s true. I just don’t really – you hated him, I just don’t get how it went from that to, well, this.”

“Neither do I sometimes, but I’m glad it did.” He was hardly going to go into detail about how he’d secretly been pining after Morse for at least a year before he finally made a move, or how having Morse gone for a month made him realise he may have fallen helplessly in love with a man he was supposed to despise.

“Would you have told us if –“

“Yeah, I’d like to think we would have. I just wanted to protect him, protect us. We didn’t do it to hurt anyone.”

“It’s alright, matey, no hard feelings.” He said a bit happier, finally looking him in the eye.

* * *

Jakes was now dressed in his clean shirtsleeves watching over Morse whilst Thursday sat beside him reading the paper he’d brought from his house.

It was just past four o’clock when he saw the twitch of Morse’s fingers.

Jakes looked to Morse wide eyed. “Morse?”

Thursday immediately put the paper down, looking over to the lad.

They twitched again, his heart rate monitor increasing slightly.

“Morse?” Jakes instinctively reached to cup Morse’s jaw, trying to anchor him to reality.

Then Morse’s eyes shot open and the monitor went crazy.

“Morse!” Jakes leaned forward, putting a hand to his shoulder.

But Morse couldn’t see him, arms flaring at Peter, trying to push him away.

“Morse, calm down, it's me, its Peter.” He said as gently as he could whilst pinning Morse by his shoulders, afraid Morse might hurt himself.

“Shit.” He heard Thursday say behind him, noticing him grab Morse’s arm to stop him pulling the IV out.

“You’re alright, Morse, your safe. No one’s going to hurt you.”

But Morse couldn’t hear them, trying to fight against both Jakes and Thursday, tears streaming down his face as he struggled to break free.

At some point a nurse ran in and injected something none-too gently into Morse’s neck and seconds later he went limp under his hands.

Jakes had a heart aching realisation that Morse wasn’t going to bounce back from this one. Not this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like the longest Ive left it without an update Im sorry but working 17 hours this weekend really wasnt the one, Ive also written this in one evening so i can only apologise if it makes no sense lol   
> this is like a little interlude before we get into the actual recovery but I wanted to include it so... here u go - let me know what you thought <3 Im going to sleep before I continue rambling..


	14. I've Got You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse wakes up - kind of

Everything was hazy, his muscles ached like hell, and his headache threatened to tear him in two. He couldn’t focus, trying to reclaim his grip on consciousness was failing. Always failing. But he needed to get back, needed to open his eyes and stay strong for Peter but the unwelcome hands on his face were back, toying with him, degrading him, reminding him this maniac had complete power over him and he hated it. However, with hate comes strength, and for the first time in what felt like forever he managed to move his arms. Keep going, keep going. Don’t give up, get him off you, keep fighting.

Morse flung his eyes open, greeted with the vision of the blurred man holding him down. He grabbed at Iverson’s arms, trying to pull them away but he was too strong, or maybe Morse was just too weak. But he could move his arms. Weren’t his arms tied up? God this was it. He’d untied him, put him on the floor and now he was going to kill him. Morse figured if he were going to use the last of his energy it would be now. But then a second pair of hands planted his right arm down, had he had an accomplice all along? Was it Jack who’d finally been released free of charge?

Morse didn’t have time to think. He put everything into struggling against them so one day when he reunited with Peter, in whatever afterlife he didn’t believe in, he could tell him he did everything he could to live, to see him again.

But then something stabbed into his next and all his fight left him, succumbing to darkness.

* * *

“What the hell was that?!” Peter raged outside Morse’s room.

“Sir, he’s coming off the anaesthetic, his mind is clouded from the pain meds, being unaware of your surroundings is very common, especially in trauma patients.”

“What, so you’re telling me he thought he was still… he thought that I was-“

The doctor nodded. “It’s very likely, yes. And its likely to happen the next time he wakes until the medications completely out of his system.”

Jakes looked to Thursday to find the older man shared the same despairing look. “He can’t do that again, he’ll hurt himself! You saw what he was like just then.”

“The only thing I can suggest is restraining him to the bed but due to the nature of his injuries and the trauma it would only make things worse.”

“What a stupid fucking suggestion! No one is tying him down. Ever.” Jakes spat at the doctor.

“Sergeant!” Thursday hissed. “Sorry doctor, his mouth can run away with him.”

Jakes rolled his eyes. The doctor may not know what had happened to Morse, but he could make a very educated guess from the abrasions on his wrists.

“The best thing you can do is reassure him, try not to touch him, let him feel that he’s free to move. It could make him realise he isn’t ‘there’ anymore.”

Jakes nodded, staring at the floor, trying to hide the feeling of falling apart.

The doctor sympathised at the two shaken men. “It’s a good sign he’s trying to wake up though, he’s strong.”

Thursday smiled fondly, looking back to the room. “That he is.”

“It’ll get easier, I promise.” The doctor gave a supportive smile before walking back down the corridor, chart in hand.

Thursday turned on Jakes, whispering harshly. “You go losing your temper like that and you mays well just tell the world about the two of you. I know this is hard for you, but you need to be careful, for both your sakes. Don’t go compliant just because I approve of it.”

Jakes nodded before processing the last part and meeting Thursdays eyes. “You do?”

Thursday rolled his eyes. “Of course, I do. You make him happy, that’s all I can ask for. But if you ever – ever – hurt him I’ll break your legs.”

Jakes paled and almost choked on his breath.

“Understood?”

“Yes sir.”

Thursday nodded once and held the door to Morse’s room open.

Note to self, Jakes thought, never let Morse go into work pissed at him.

* * *

The doctor was right. Around three hours later Morse woke, limbs flailing and managing to shout this time.

“No! No. No, get off me you bastard!” Morse fought at his invisible demons, eyes clouded and broken.

Jakes longed to reach out, run his hands over Morse’s and anchor him to reality but he couldn’t.

“You’re alright Morse, you’re safe.” Is what Jakes was going to say but the sound came from Thursday, leaned over, gripping the bed frame to stop him from holding onto the lad.

Morse shook his head and let out a pained cry.

“Morse, you need to calm down love, you’re gonna’-“

Too late, one sharp tug of his right arm pulled the IV out, blood running freely down Morse’s hand.

“Shit, I’ll get a nurse.” Thursday said quickly, shooting up out of his seat.

“Endeavour, it’s Peter, you’re safe, I swear. Listen to my voice, Morse. I’m here, right here. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“I won’t!”

Jakes frowned. Was he responding to him or was he still trapped inside his head?

“Won’t what, Morse?”

He wasn’t listening to him. He cried out again, clutching at the bed sheets.

“Endeavour listen to my voice. I’m right here, I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe.”

But Morse had gone somewhere Jakes couldn’t follow, trapped in the prison of his own mind.

After another agonising minute Morse fell asleep again, collapsing back into the bed in a bundle of limbs, blood streaked across the sheets from his hand.

Thursday came barrelling back in with a nurse, stopping in his tracks seeing the DC in restful slumber.

“He fell asleep.”

Thursday straightened himself out, nodding.

The nurse moved over to Morse’s hand, cleaning it with a cloth before placing a plaster over the tear.

Jakes didn’t know how many more times he could watch Morse fight against his ghosts, only able to look on helplessly.

He was disappointed Morse hadn’t recognised his voice, it was stupid and irrational, but he wanted him to recognise him, sense his presence and calm himself, but it was as if he was invisible. Jakes shook himself from the ridiculous thought, it was hardly like they had a bloody telepathic link, but it still hurt that Jakes couldn’t be his guiding light. Pathetic he knows but Jakes finally had him back and Morse didn’t even realise. How could he not realise?

* * *

It happened three more times that night. Each time getting slightly better but still very far from okay.

He’d scream, shout unintelligible words, sometimes sob before falling back into unconsciousness.

Thursday seemed strained to keep himself neutral, watching his bagman fighting his imagination. The vain in his forehead looked like it was threatening to burst, jaw clenched painfully together like he was trying desperately to stop reaching out to the lad.

Neither Jakes nor Thursday had trouble falling asleep after Morse had settled again, completely drained from the horrors of the day.

Jakes didn’t care that Thursday watched him lean over to rest his head on the bed, gripping onto Morse’s hand like a lifeline. It was the only thing that would stop Peter’s recurring nightmares that plagued him every time he closed his eyes.

He wasn’t sure how long he was asleep for, but he had the most beautiful dream. It wasn’t anything ridiculous, he wasn’t saving the world from zombies or walking on the moon, it was just him and Morse, lying together on a lazy Sunday morning, soaking in each other’s presence. Morse filling in a cross word, pen lacing idly through his curls as he thought.

Peter studied the creases in his forehead as he frowned, mapping out every freckle on his cheeks. Morse turned to him, noticing him staring and instead of his self-conscious ‘why are you watching me’ he simply smiled, finding Jakes’ hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

He woke slowly, refusing to open his eyes in a hope he could delve back into his utopia. But it didn’t happen, becoming more aware of his terribly uncomfortable position and the horrid stench of disinfectant. He wondered how long he’d have to wait before he could relive the dream.

But then he felt another squeeze and he definitely wasn’t imagining it.

He blinked open, seeing his hand wrapped in Morse’s. Morse’s hand wrapped around _him_ in an honest to god grasp.

Peter shot up from the bed to find Morse wearily watching him. actually, seeing him. he moved a few times to make sure Morse’s eyes were in fact following him and not just staring passively in his direction.

“Morse?”

He smiled slightly, head resting on the pillows supporting him. “Hey.”

Peter felt like the air had been forced out of his lungs. Morse was lucid and talking and normal, and he was looking at him with his big blue eyes like it was the single best thing he’d ever seen, and Jakes couldn’t be blamed for surging forward and crushing his lips on Morse’s. It wasn’t an earth-shattering kiss, it was uncoordinated and sloppy, and their teeth grazed but none of it mattered because Morse was kissing him, albeit weakly.

Peter quickly pulled away once his brain caught up with his mouth and glanced a look at Thursday who was quietly snoring in his seat.

He let out a breath of relief, Thursday allowing their relationship was one thing, watching them snog in front of him would be a different scenario entirely.

He looked back to Morse who had his eyes closed in a pained frown.

“Morse? What’s wrong?”

“My head is killing me.” He admitted through clenched teeth.

“I’m not surprised, you’ve got one hell of a concussion.”

Morse grimaced. “Figures.”

“I’ll go get a nurse, she can give you something for the pain-“

“No!” Morse quickly returned, holding tighter onto Jakes’ hand. He looked down, slightly embarrassed from how needy he sounded. “No, ugh, I’m fine. Stay?”

Jakes softened. “Sure.”

Morse smiled gratefully. “What happened?”

Jakes eyed him cautiously, surely it was too soon to give him the grim details of his rescue, deciding to keep it brief. “We found Iverson’s old address, and he had links to everyone but Faith that we knew of.”

Morse nodded, a wave of sadness painting over him. “Did you ever give up?” He asked after a while of studying each other.

“Give up on what? Finding you?”

He looked down, exploring Peter’s hands with his fingers, not wanting to make eye contact. “He said you had.”

“What?”

“He said you gave up, that you’d stopped looking.” Said Morse in a small voice, tiredness already setting back in.

Peter put his hand on top of Morse’s, stilling him. “Endeavour, tell me you didn’t believe him.”

Morse finally looked at him and shook his head. “I didn’t, not at first but it was _months_ Peter, I didn’t-“

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help it, I was so tire-”

“Months?”

“What?”

“What day is it today, Endeavour?”

Morse blinked at him. “I don’t know how long I’ve been here, Peter. Maybe June 10th?”

“Fuck.” Peter whispered. What the fuck did that bastard tell him?

“Why? Is it more-“

“Morse, its March 27th, he had you three days.”

“What? But it was – he said…”

“He lied, Morse. He lied it was three days, not months. I promise you, look.” He picked up Thursday’s paper with yesterdays date on.

Morse looked to him wide eyes, tears brimming over. “Peter…”

Jakes didn’t need any more indication. He knew exactly what Morse needed and he quickly moved in, wrapping his arms around Morse, letting Morse’s head lean into the crook of his neck.

“Shh. You’re alright Morse, you’re safe.” Jakes whispered into the russet curls, running his hand gently up and down Morse’s back.

Morse grabbed at his shirt, uncontrollably shaking in tears.

“I’ve got you, Endeavour, it’s alright.”

Morse shook his head into his shoulder. “I thought you weren’t coming.” He choked out.

“I’ll always come for you, Morse… I’d never have stopped looking for you.”

“I tried not to give up.”

“You didn’t Morse, you’re here. You survived.”

Morse shook “I did, I gave up. I – I gave up on you.”

Jakes pushed him away, holding him by his shoulder to find his eye contact. “Endeavour, you didn’t give up. You were still alive when we found you. What part of that sounds like giving up?”

Morse shrugged, hands falling in his lap. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Peter gave him an unimpressed look, wiping the tear tracks on Morse’s puffy cheeks. “Can’t get away from me that easy. Gonna take more than a jumped-up disciple with a power complex to take you from me.”

Morse let out a soft laugh, eyes drooping.

“Get some sleep, Morse. We can talk more later.”

Morse let Peter lower him back down, finding his hand again.

“I'll be here when you wake up.” Jakes promised, giving Morse's hand a squeeze.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god who thought I was capable of writing some fluff? Like?? and there's gonna be so much more?   
> Maybe thats going to be my new thing instead of trying to kill Morse off (jks you should see the next work I have planned for this series xxx)
> 
> thank you all for reading and giving kudos and commenting <3 gives me all the motivation to keep writing, ily guys x


	15. In Your Eyes

Morse slept through most of the day, like the last two he’d been in hospital, only this time he wasn’t being sedated into unconsciousness, which is apparently better for the healing process, or so the doctor told him.

Jakes didn’t leave his side though, Thursday had had to go back to the station to sign off on reports but was much happier since having a small conversation with Morse for the few moments he woke in the morning. 

Thursday returned a while after lunch, agitated and grumpy.

“Sir.” Jakes greeted when Thursday entered Morse’s room.

Thursday just grunted, settling into his chair.

Jakes wasn’t very close to Thursday, but he knew not to pry when the man was annoyed at something so they men simply watched over Morse in silence.

“Oh, Mrs Thursday made you these, I told her not to fuss but you know what she’s like.” Thursday said, pulling out couple of carefully wrapped sandwiches.

Jakes wasn’t sure what to say, it was such a small gesture, but Jakes’ heart welled. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken the time to make lunch for him, it must have been before… he shook his head. He wouldn’t let his shit show of a childhood spoil this.

He took the sandwiches with a sheepish smile “Thank you sir. I’ll be sure to thank her next time I see her.”

“I think by the next time you see her she’ll have been providing your lunches for weeks.” Thursday joked, watching him unwrap the sandwiches.

“She really doesn’t need to, sir. But I’m grateful all the same.”

“Well, if she didn’t, you’d forget to eat, getting as bad as Morse these days. Can’t let yourself get run down fussing over him, he’s getting better and he’ll need you when he gets out.”

Thursday did have a point; Morse was going to need him to do almost everything for him once he was released. He took a large bite.

“We took Iverson’s statement today. That’s why I was late here.”

Jakes blood ran cold.

“Damn man deserves to rot in hell.” Thursday scoffed, staring at the IV in Morse’s hand.

“Did he… did he say anything about-“

“No. I made it very clear if he even tried, I’d make sure he wouldn’t last a week in prison.”

Jakes swallowed. He knew how ferocious Thursday could be, but he did this to save his skin, if it wasn’t for Thursday and DeBryn he’d have been suspended at best.

“I wish I finished the job.”

Jakes’ eyes shot up to Thursday. “What?”

“I wish I killed him, after I dragged you off him.” repeated Thursday in a stronger voice.

Jakes was stunned for a moment. “I wish you hadn’t dragged me off him.” He admitted slowly.

“You’re a lot of things Jakes, but a murderer isn’t one of them.”

“I don’t know… I would have done it. Does that make me as bad as him? What makes me different? I wanted to crack his fucking skull open. I was going to do it too.”

“Peter, you need to stop thinking like that before it eats you up. In the heat of the moment you were protecting – hell _avenging_ – the man you love, that’s different to what that bastard was doing. Hell, if it was my Win he had I’d have done no different. Neither would anyone in that situation. But you didn’t kill him. and you didn’t try to.” Thursday studied him for a second. “ I let you go, and you didn’t try to finish the job. That’s what makes you better, what makes you different.”

Jakes hung his head. “I still wish he was dead, even now.”

“I know. Hell, I had to walk out the room at one point. The things he was saying…”

Jakes looked to him, but he didn’t want Thursday to elaborate. He didn’t want to imagine the awful things Iverson had said about Morse, about the other three.

“They need me to take Morse’s statement.”

“What? No, he’s not ready!”

“I don’t like this as much as you Jakes, but you know as well as I do it has to be done as soon as.”

Jakes looked back to Morse, sleeping peacefully in front of him.

“If I think it's getting too much for him, I’ll stop, Jakes. I don’t want to make it any harder on the lad.”

Jakes reluctantly nodded, finishing his sandwiches in silence.

* * *

It was 4pm by the time Morse woke with a start, almost jumping into a sitting position. “Peter.” Came in a hoarse voice.

Peter quickly found the hand that reached to him. “Hey, it’s okay Morse, I’m here.”

Morse visibly relaxed, letting himself fall back into the pillows with a groan.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, jus’ a dream.” Said Morse, still sluggish from waking up.

“Morse.” Thursday cut in, leaning into view behind Jakes.

Morse quickly went to drop Peters hand; more aware than the last time he’d woke.

“It’s alright, lad, I know.”

Morse stiffened and looked to Peter who flashed him a guilty smile.

“It was hard to hide once we’d searched your flat.” Explained Thursday, angling his chair towards Morse.

Morse’s eyes flickered between the two men, almost panicking. “Ah... With all due respect sir, it was my fault. I propositioned him, if anyone’s losing their job it best be-“

Thursday shook his head. “Morse, don’t be so dense. You two deserve each other, both bloody idiots. Neither of you are losing your job or getting arrested. Surely, you’d know I’d never do that to you, Morse.”

Morse looked down, “I suppose, but it is breaking the law.”

Thursday simply tutted at him. “I know you hit your head, but you need to remember you don’t need to tell me the laws lad, I am a police officer if you’ve forgotten.”

Morse smiled, allowing himself to stretch out slightly.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like someone tied me up for days.” Morse replied curtly.

Thursday raised an eyebrow.

“My head hurts still.”

“To be expected apparently.”

Morse nodded but tried to keep the head moving to a minimum.

“If you’re feeling well enough, Bright’s badgering me for a statement.”

Morse looked to Peter, then Thursday. He looked like he was going to protest at first. “I’ll try.”

“Thanks, lad. If it gets too much just say and we can stop.”

“Can it just be us?” Morse asked to Thursday.

Peter looked dumb struck. “What?”

Morse shrugged, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Morse, do you not want me here?” Peter asked, trying to hide the hurt in his voice.

“Of course, I do. But… I don’t want you to know what happened.” Morse muttered.

Peter couldn’t quite process what the hell Morse was saying. “Sir, I’d be grateful if you could give me and Morse a moment?”

Thursday nodded, without having to ask why, and swiftly closed the door behind him as he left.

“Morse, what the hell?”

“I don’t want you to know, Peter, what aren’t you getting?”

“Why? I’ve seen the injuries, Morse, I know what the bastard did to you. I found you there, remember?”

“I know… I- you don’t know what happened though, in the days he had me. I’m not sure if I want you to.”

“Endeavour, please, _please_ don’t shut me out. It’s not going to change anything, I swear.”

Morse looked away, not wanting to see the desperate look on Jakes’ face.

“I need to know, Morse. It’s the only way I’m gonna’ be able to help you get through this.”

Morse thought for a moment, the crease in his forehead that Peter had come to love was back. “Okay.”

Jakes went to let Thursday back in, pulling out a notepad and pen.

“We’ll start from the beginning. What do you remember about the abduction?”

Jakes watched Morse intently. If he showed any signs of discomfort, or more than expected in this situation, he was putting a stop to it.

“I only remember getting home. He must have been waiting for me.”

Jakes felt his anger beginning to boil already. That bastard taking him was one thing but to do it in his own home?

“What happened next?”

“I don’t know, my memories hazy. I remember waking up, it was dark, and my head ached – my whole body ached. I- I couldn’t move, and there was that _thing_ on my head.” Morse paused for a second, trying to remember. “He came in after a while, said he knew me from the choir. God, he was at the crime scenes, sir.”

“What?”

“He watched us all from, well, I don’t know where. But that’s – that’s how he found out.”

“Found what out?” Thursday prompted.

“About us, about Peter.”

Jakes blinked. Shit it was all his fault. If he hadn’t been so fucking overprotective, if he’d have been more discreet.

“Its not you’re fault, Peter.” Morse murmured, seeing his partner’s darkening eyes.

Jakes huffed. “God if I hadn’t gone to you-“

“Sergeant, what have I told you. What’s done is done, no point dwelling.”

Jakes just nodded, letting Morse carry on.

“He wanted me to confess my sins. He asked me over and over. I couldn’t – I wouldn’t.”

“Sins? You mean-“

Morse nodded. “I wouldn’t. He said he’d done the same to the others. Cleansed them before they died, he said. But I wouldn’t. Loving someone isn’t a sin.” Morse gritted out the last part and it send a pain to Peters chest.

That bastard wanted Morse to apologise for loving him. He tortured Morse because he loved him. It was becoming clear to Peter why Morse wanted to spare him from the interview, but it was too late now. He had to carry on.

“He left; I don’t know how long for. It was hard to keep track, I kept losing consciousness. I tried to stay awake, I did. I just-“

“Its alright, Morse. Nothing you could have done.”

“He would come back, a few times a day, I’d try and fight back at first, but I was getting so tired… in the end I couldn’t do anything.”

Morse closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

“You okay?” Peter took his hand softly, finding his eyes.

“Yeah, fine. Tired.”

“We don’t have to carry on, you need rest.”

“No, Peter I- its okay. I need to do this.”

Jakes just gave a disapproving look before Thursday carried on.

“What else happened Morse? Can you tell me anything else?”

“He told me why he killed the other three, I think. I can’t remember it all though.”

“It’s alright, he’s confessed to them so don’t stress yourself too much about it.”

“He told me I had to confess, that he wouldn’t let me die before I confessed… he kept asking me questions, what month it was, what year it was. I let myself get confused; I couldn’t think straight.” Morse clenched his eyes closed, trying to push away the haunting memories. “He’d tell me to confess over and over. That it didn’t matter if I did because no one was coming but I wouldn’t… I _wouldn’t_ … Next thing I remember was waking up here.”

“Alright Morse, you’re doing good. Do you remember how you got the marks around your neck?”

Morse huffed a slight laugh that turned into a series of coughs. “I think I called him a piece of shit.”

That made the two men smile. “Of course, you did. Well, I think that’s about everything, if Bright thinks of anything else I’ll ask you.” He said, slipping the notepad into his coat.

Morse nodded, eyes drooping before snapping open again. “Sorry, don’t know why ‘m so tired all the time.”

“It’s alright Morse get some rest. Your body needs to heal.”

Morse nodded slightly, falling to sleep in what looked like seconds.

Peter still didn’t let go of his hand.

* * *

The next day they moved Morse into a normal ward, which shared around five more patients. Peter knew it was a good thing, that Morse was getting better and wasn’t in enough danger to need the around the clock care of a private room. But it also meant he and Thursday were now restricted to hospital visiting hours, not to mention he couldn’t touch Morse now without the threat of being exposed.

“I’m gonna’ have to go now, Endeavour. If I stay any longer the nurse’s will drag me out by my collar.” Jakes joked lightly, yearning to reach out and hold his hand.

“Its ‘kay Peter, gonna’ sleep now anyways.” Morse murmured softly, giving him a warm smile.

“I’ll be back as soon as visiting hours start. I promise.”

“You not got a job to go to Peter Jakes?”

“Bright’s given me leave, knows someone has to take care of you ‘til your back on your feet.”

Morse hummed. “G’night Peter.”

“Night Morse.”

* * *

Peter wasn’t sure how he was expecting to feel when he came home to an empty flat. He thought he’d feel sad, exhausted, relieved to finally get a night in a comfy bed. But he felt nothing. He just wanted to be back with Morse. No, he didn’t have time to be sappy. He needed a good meal, a shower and a full night’s sleep.

And that’s what he did, going about his evening almost absently, mind still on Morse.

Once he got to bed, he let the weight of the past few days soak in, allowing him to fall asleep almost instantly. He’d never felt so comfortable in bed but still achingly lonely.

_He was walking, running. It was pitch black, the only thing that penetrated the darkness was the murky fog that danced around him as he moved. He couldn’t see anything, but he knew he was searching for something._

_“Morse!”_

_But he couldn’t see him. He couldn’t find him. He ran and ran but there was nothing. Where the hell was he? All he could see was darkness._

_He spun on his heels and came face to face with his lover._

_“Why couldn’t you save me?” Morse asked, blood seeping from his mouth._

_“Morse?”_

_“Why couldn’t you find me, Peter? Where were you? I needed you.” Morse’s knees buckled before he could register the words._

_Peter chased him down, grabbing him as they fell into a bundle of limbs._

_“Morse stay with me, love. You’re okay.”_

_Morse looked to him with hurt eyes, blood weeping out of invisible wounds. “Why weren’t you there, Peter? You promised.”_

_“Morse I-“_

_“You left me to die.”_

Peter bolted upright in his bed, breathing rapidly, drenched in sweat and alone.

It was just a dream. Just a dream. Morse was alright, they’d found him. He was alright. He saved him.

He grabbed the cigarettes by his bed, shakily pressing one to his lips as he fumbled for the lighter.

The first cigarette only calmed him slightly. He was on the third before his hands stopped shaking. He had a cold shower before trying to settle back down again but sleep didn’t come. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Morse, dying in his arms. _Too late_.

He sighed, rolling to Morse’s side of the bed, and picking up one of the books on his bedside table. It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally have a plan for how this story is gonna end and it's kinda making me sad that its gonna be over soon. this is the longest thing I've ever written and ive put so much time into it I dont want it to end lol help XD  
> reckon we've got 5 chapters to go pals *cries* thank you always for taking the time to read and comment, ur kind words give me life <3


	16. Take Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse walks, Jakes loses his SH*T

Peter Jakes was not desperate to see Morse again, thank you very much. It just so happened he was waiting outside Morse’s ward the second visiting hours started that day.

He reached Morse’s bedside before the nurse even finished greeting him a ‘good morning’ and gave Morse a quick squeeze of his hand to let him know he was there, the only physical interaction he allowed himself to have in the very public area.

The nurse informed him Morse still hadn’t woken from when he’d left him the night before which was apparently a good thing since his blood tests still showed signs of dehydration. She also mentioned they were going to try to get Morse to walk a little today and Jakes couldn’t decide if he was scared shitless that it’d go terrible and would knock Morse’s confidence or if he was monumentally relieved because it would mean Morse was quite literally back on his feet.

Peter studied Morse who seemed to be sleeping peacefully even though he usually hated sleeping on his back but the less than single sized hospital beds don’t allow for much else, especially with the restrictive IV in his hand. He pulled out Nineteen eighty-four, the book he’d found himself reading from three in the morning, out of his oversized coat pocket and settled down.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat reading, but he was almost a third of the way through the book before he saw Morse’s eyes snapping open, immediately finding him.

“Peter?”

Peter placed the book down, leaning forward. “Wotcher.”

More smiled like it was a weird term of endearment. “What time is it?”

Jakes glanced a look to his watch. “Just past twelve. You can’t half sleep.”

Morse shrugged. “Not like I can do much else.”

Peter could understand his annoyance. Morse wasn’t one to stay still for more than a few minutes, it was a miracle he hadn’t tried to storm out the hospital already, testament to how exhausted he actually was behind the grouchiness. “’Gonna try walking today remember.”

Morse huffed. “About time. I’m sick of lying here.”

“I’m sick of watching you lying there.” Peter shot back jokingly, leaning back into his chair with a fond smile on his lips.

Morse clearly didn’t find it as amusing, as usual taking it bluntly. “You know you don’t have to be here all the time, right?”

Jakes rolled his eyes. “I don’t have to be here, I _want_ to be here, Morse. That’s what you do when you care.”

Morse smiled at that. “Who knew under that sharp demeanour there was just a soft teddy bear.”

“Watch it, remember who feeds you.”

Morse let out a sharp laugh, eyes settling on Peter. “I’m glad you’re here. I don’t think I’m very good at being on my own right now.”

And shit, it must be hard on him if Morse was openly admitting it. “Well, good job you’ve got me.”

“Yeah. Wait, is that my book?”

Jakes look down to the book in his lap. “Oh, this? Yeah found it last night, its not bad.”

Morse rolled his eyes, flinching slightly.

“Still got a headache?”

“Yeah, can’t remember what it was like to feel like someone wasn’t stamping on my head constantly. And no, Peter, there’s nothing the nurses can give me, it’ll apparently go in the next few days.”

Jakes just grimaced sympathetically, wishing he could take the pain away. “Want me to read to you?”

Morse smiled.

* * *

Three hours later, Morse tried walking.

“Take it slowly. If you don’t feel up to it, you don’t have to do it.” Doctor Murphy spoke warily, clearly unsure if it was too soon for his patient.

“I’m fine.” Morse insisted with his feet planted on the floor as he sat on the side of the bed, hands tightly gripping the side.

“Maybe you’d be happier if your friend was the one supporting you?” the doctor suggested, looking to Peter.

Peter quickly jumped out of his seat, holding out his hands to Morse.

Morse swallowed thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing, and reached to Peter.

Peter firmly gripped around Morse’s wrists, Morse following his lead doing the same. Peter gave him a reassuring smile. “One. Two. Three.”

He pulled Morse up to his feet and Peter felt a rush of relief. Morse was standing up.

Morse wobbled slightly but Peter kept him in place.

“How do you feel?” Doctor Murphy asked from the side.

Morse centred his eyes on his grip on Peter. “Okay.”

“Try and take a few steps.”

He lifted his left foot from the ground slowly, moving it forward before placing it in front of him. He shifted his weight onto it and practically fell into Peter’s arms who was quick to lean in and keep Morse upright.

“Easy does it.”

Morse nodded, putting all of his focus on moving his feet. The next step was more coordinated, Peter still taking a lot of his weight.

“You’re doing good, Morse.” Peter murmured, walking backwards in time to Morse.

Morse just grimaced, not looking up.

They’d made it across the room when perspiration started settling on Morse’s forehead like he was halfway into a park run. “Keep going Morse. You’re doing so well.”

“Maybe we should have a sit down?” Murphy suggested, padding behind Morse in case he fell.

“No. I can do this.” Morse said stubbornly, starting the way back to his bed.

Around halfway his knees gave out and Peter grabbed him, wrapping a strong hand around his waist, shoulder under his armpit. “I’ve got you, you’re alright.”

Morse screwed his eyes shut. “Dammit! Why is this so fucking hard? It shouldn’t be this difficult!”

“You haven’t used any your muscles for over a week, Morse. Extreme fatigue is completely normal.”

Jakes lowered him to his bed after almost carrying him back. “I shouldn’t be this useless.” Morse muttered.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Morse. It’ll get easier.” Peter said softly, placing him back down onto the bed.

Morse just gave an annoyed huff.

The doctor reattached the IV, turning to Morse. “For your first attempt, its looking promising. Most patients in your situation don’t make ten steps.”

“In my situation.” He repeated bitterly, staring at the wall by his bed.

The doctor sighed, pulling Morse’s chart to his chest. “Yes, Morse. You need to accept that to heal.”

“I’m not in denial _doctor_.”

Peter looked apologetically to the doctor, who simply nodded in acknowledgement.

“Good, well you need to rest. Ill come by to check on you later.”

Morse glared at him as he walked away.

“He’s just trying to help, Morse.”

Morse shot Peter a look. “He’s patronising and irritating.”

“Play your cards right and you might get solid food soon.” Peter said, trying, yet again, to lighten the mood.

Morse scowled. “I was gone for three days and I’m reduced to a fucking infant.”

Jakes gave him a disbelieving look. “You weren’t just _gone_ , Morse you were tied up and starved. That’s not something you bounce back from.”

“You don’t need to remind me.”

“Clearly I do because you act like you don’t get it.” Jakes retorted, letting his frustration get the better of him.

“I don’t need a fucking lecture from you.”

“No, you don’t.” he sighed in defeat, finding Morse’s eyes. “I just don’t want you to think what you’re going through now isn’t right. You’re healing, Morse. Its not an overnight fix.”

Morse slumped back into his bed, all fight leaving him. “I know.”

Jakes resigned to reading Morse’s book to him again.

* * *

Morse seemed in better spirits before Jakes had to leave for the day. Thursday didn’t get a chance to visit with a lot of work to do at the station, but he’d called to give his best which made Morse a bit happier.

He’d got home just after eight, Morse was already asleep when he’d left and, shit, did he need a drink.

Seeing Morse struggle to put one foot in front of the other hurt more than he let himself realise. He was so busy trying to keep Morse happy he’d run himself down, pushing his own emotions back. Morse needed him for emotional support, he couldn’t afford to be unhappy.

He poured out a large glass of whiskey and turned on the footy highlights. Finally, some normality. But it still felt like there was gaping hole in the room, where Morse should have been leaning against him, nose in a book with Peters hand in his hair.

He looked to the empty space next to him on the sofa wondering how long he could go before dragging Morse home, damn the doctors.

It was almost midnight before he decided to try and get some sleep, shuffling over to Morse’s side, breathing in his pillow which still had his scent lingering on it. Maybe tonight he’d manage to sleep.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there, on the verge of consciousness, willing himself to give into sleep, but his mind was still running at one hundred miles an hour, worrying about Morse and work and the horridly long recovery ahead which he felt completely powerless over. Was he going to have to take more leave to care for Morse? Could he afford so much time off work? Of course, Morse was more important than any of that, but if they couldn’t afford food or rent what would they do?

The shrill of the phone made Peter jump out of his skin. Who the fuck was calling at – Jakes looked to his watch – 2am?

He quickly got to the phone thinking of 100 reasons why someone would be wanting to call him at such a ridiculous hour.

“Jakes.” He spoke groggily into the phone.

“Mr Jakes, this is nurse Hampton from Cowley General. I’m sorry for calling at this hour, but are you able to come in?”

He swore his heart stopped right there, almost choking on the lump in his throat. “What’s happened?”

“Mr Morse woke up, he was delusional, kept asking for you.”

“Is he alright?”

“We had to sedate him; he had a severe panic attack.”

“You what? Shit, I’m on my way.”

Jakes wished he had a car right now, running through the streets in the dead of night in nothing more than his shirt sleeves and trousers he’d found on the floor which, from the tightness, might actually be Morse’s, was not ideal.

He burst through the entrance where a nurse was waiting.

She led him to a new room, away from the ward, where Morse lay motionless.

“What the hell happened? He was getting better!” Jakes shouted in frustration, finding Morse’s hand. Fuck whoever saw.

“He was sleeping and he woke screaming, woke up the ward and wouldn’t calm down, we had to sedate him.” The nurse explained behind him. “He kept asking for ‘Peter’. It’s a good thing you’re his emergency contact or we’d have had no way of reaching you.”

His what? When the hell had Morse done that?

“You shouldn’t have knocked him out, he was just scared!” He spat at the undeserving nurse, carding a hand through Morse’s hair.

“He could hardly breathe; it was in his best interests.” The nurse replied coolly like it was a completely normal response.

Jakes shook his head angrily. “Did you even try and calm him down?”

“With all due respect sir, we couldn’t get near him, he wouldn’t listen.”

Jakes glared at her. “Get me a fucking doctor.”

The nurse, who clearly didn’t appreciate Jakes’ attitude stormed back out of the private room, leaving him alone with Morse.

“Darlin’, it’s me, Peter. You’re alright, I’m going to take you home, I’m gonna’ look after you.” He said, cupping Morse’s cheek, letting him thumb stroke across his cheekbone.

It was clear the way Morse slept wasn’t natural. He was a bundle of twists and turns normally, this, this was very not natural. Morse didn’t move an inch, mouth slightly parted in slow breaths.

A doctor came in, making Jakes retreat back to a neutral position.

“I believe you wanted a doctor. I’m doctor Stevens.”

“I want to take him home.”

“You must be joking.” The doctor almost cracked a smile at the suggestion, but Jakes just shot him a furious gaze.

“Sir, he needs around the clock care, he needs regular check-ups and monitoring, he can’t just ‘go home’.”

“I know what he needs, he can live with me, I can look after him and doctor DeBryn can check on him. He can’t stay here.”

“Sir, you’re clearly a bit shaken but suggesting you and that pathologist take care of him isn’t what’s best for him.”

“And him waking up in a panic attack and getting sedated is? I might not be a doctor but that doesn’t sound like you’re handling it! He needs me, I could have stopped this, and I can tell you it’ll happen again, every time he wakes up without me. He’ll panic and I swear to god I won’t have you knocking him out every time you can’t handle him.” Peter’s hands were balled into fists so tightly Jakes thought his nails might draw blood.

The doctor stared at Morse with an almost guilty look to him. “I agree, sedating him probably wasn’t the best course of action but we had very few options.”

“I’m giving you a fucking option, let me take him home.”

“His recovery is going to take a lot of time, he’s going to need weeks of strict diet plans, training to get his mobility back, I don’t think you know what you’re signing yourself up for.”

“I can handle it, being here will only drag it out longer. He needs to be at home where he’s comfortable.”

“Id have to consult his attending doctor, he’s the one you should be asking.”

Jakes shook his head, looking back to Morse.

“I’ll discuss the terms of his release when Doctor Murphy comes in the morning, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when it gets too much.”

“It won’t.” Jakes gritted out, hands still clenched.

“I'll have to write out an extensive PT schedule and diet plan, which needs to be upheld. He’ll need his blood taken every other day for two weeks, which I’m sure the Home Office pathologist will be over the moon about, and his bandages will need changing daily.”

“I can do that.”

The doctor retreated slightly, flashing him a kind smile. “You must be a good friend.”

Jakes reddened, averting his eye contact. “I just know what he needs.”

“I’ll write up the file, we’ll see about his release lunchtime tomorrow, you’re welcome to stay until then.”

The doctor left with one last half smile and Peter sank back to Morse’s side. He took Morse’s limp hand, curling himself around it whilst trying to stay seated, and finally fell into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: Morse comes home (YAAAY)   
> Im sorry this was meant to be fluffier but apparently I like angst better but I promise next chapter will be like tooth rotting fluff and our boys will finally get the hugs and support they need   
> as always Im forever grateful for your lovely feedback <33


	17. Let me love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse comes home (prepare for fluff)

At 12:15 Endeavour Morse was given an official discharge from Cowley hospital and Peter almost cried. He’d arranged for Thursday to meet them with the Jag as Morse was still too weak to walk, having to be wheeled to the car in a chair dressed in a plain t-shirt and sweatpants.

The doctor had given him a list of instructions to care for him, including how long he should be out of bed for the day, how much water he needs a day, and what food he should have per day for almost two weeks and a long list of ‘what to do ifs’, but it was worth it just to have Morse home.

As soon as they got out of the building the humid spring air hit them like a wave of relief. no more damned hospital wards for, hopefully, a very long time. Morse clearly relaxed too, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

Peter and Thursday manoeuvred Morse into the back seat of the car where Jakes could support him, slipping in behind his back so he rested on his chest. It wasn’t ideal but if it saved him slipping it had to be done.

Morse was already dozing five minutes into the journey, head lolling on Jakes’ shoulder.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Thursday asked, flashing him a glance in the mirror.

“I’m sure. it wasn’t good for him to be stuck in there.”

“For him or for you?”

Jakes scowled. “Him. Did you see the way they dealt with him last night?”

“In all fairness you weren’t there, you can’t know how bad he was to judge.”

“He was just scared.” He muttered, breathing in Morse’s curls.

The rest of the journey was silent. Thursday kept his eyes on the road, Jakes’ on Morse, arms wrapped protectively over his chest.

“Wait there I’ll get him, probably easiest.” Thursday said once they arrived outside Peters flat, quickly rounding to open the back door and scooped Morse off Jakes, holding the lad to his chest.

Jakes swiftly found the keys to his flat, directing Thursday to the bedroom, placing him gently onto the bed.

There were three bags of bandages, antibiotics, alcohol wipes, even emergency fluid if DeBryn decided he needed it.

“I’m just going to make a note of the food he can have.” Thursday said disappearing into the kitchen.

“Why?” Jakes questioned, following him into the small room.

“Well, first you have barely any food in, second Win will no doubt be wanting to send some meals over, she’ll need to know what he can eat.”

“He isn’t due to start real food until tonight, no offence but he won’t be able to have stew.”

“I know, Jakes, but my Win is a very practical woman, she’ll be able to muster up something nice from – let’s see – yoghurt, citrus fruit, lean meat, fish, rice. Well… we’ll see what she makes of it.”

“It says yogurt and fruit only until next week.”

“So, she’ll sort something for next week, trust me there’s no getting around her fussing. She’ll likely be bringing you food too.”

“With respect sir-“

“Save it, you’re wasting your breath, you cannot deter that woman. I’m off to the shop, need anything else?”

“No.”

Thursday gave a nod of his hat and left Peter’s flat, list in hand.

And _finally_ , they were alone. After so long it was just him and Morse and he wasted absolutely no time closing the distance between them.

He didn’t bother waking Morse up, sitting on the side of the bed, placing a soft kiss on his forehead, letting him lips trace above his eyebrow, kissing his eyelids, nose, jaw, and god did it feel amazing. He could finally hold him, kiss him, help him. It was the only thing Peter had wanted for weeks, ever since he was taken, he just needed him there next to him, to feel him alive and breathing.

He would have continued kissing every inch of his face if Morse didn’t begin to stir.

“Morse?”

Morse opened his eyes to Peter practically on top of him. “Home?”

Jakes beamed down to him, letting his hand cup Morse’s neck. “Yeah, Morse. You’re home.”

“Feels good.” Morse smiled, “c’mere.”

Peter didn’t need to be asked twice, leaning in, and sealing their lips together. It felt like coming home.

Jakes gave an appreciative moan, letting his hand curl around the back of his head. “Missed you.” He whispered against his lips.

Morse smiled into it, busking in the warmth of Peter’s mouth, and eventually pulled back with a slight cringe. “They give you any pain killers?”

“Your head still?”

Morse nodded bleakly.

Peter went to the bags in the living room, finding a pack and grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen.

He helped Morse sit, angling the cup to his lips. “Small sips.”

That received a small glare.

“Hey, I don’t want you choking to death as soon as I get you back.”

Morse rolled his eyes but smiled all the same.

Peter let his hand card gently through Morse’s long curls. “God I’ve missed you so much.”

Morse leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. “I don’t get how you managed to get them to release me.”

“I can be very persuasive.”

“Very stubborn, more like.” Morse shot back in his usual way and it made Peters chest warm, seeing his spark returning.

“Learnt from the best.” He leaned in for chaste kiss.

“Hate hospitals.”

“I hate you _in_ hospitals.”

Morse huffed before he grabbed at Peters shirt weakly, pulling him in for another kiss. It was slow and delicate against Morse’s dry lips, but Jakes simply solved that, lapping his tongue against them. Morse raised a hand to the back of Jakes’ neck, other hand still fisted in his shirt.

Peter wished he could live in that moment, but he knew using all his energy kissing him wouldn’t be productive. “Sorry, that’s all you get. Can’t have you tiring yourself out.”

“Come on Peter, want you.”

Jakes was usually a sucker for that voice, but he couldn’t let in, as much as he wanted it too. “And I want you to walk.”

Morse fell back into the pillows in a huff. “I’ll walk out if you don’t watch it.”

“Can’t imagine you’d get far.” Jakes retorted, flashing a grin.

Morse rolled his eyes, drooping slightly as the pain meds began to work.

Peter left the door to the bedroom open as he went to get the doorbell and helped Thursday with the bags of shopping. “Sir, this is definitely more than yoghurt and fruit.”

“You seem to be forgetting, you need to eat too.” Thursday said, unpacking bread, milk, meat, vegetables and, oh hell, a pack of cigarettes.

Jakes instantly reached for them and opened the packet. “You mind?”

“No go ahead.” He said continuing with the shopping.

He reached in his pocket for lighter that had a permanent residency in his left side, even when he was out of cigarettes.

“He settled in?” Thursday asked, placing groceries in the fridge.

Jakes took a deep inhale, feeling the calming hit of nicotine. “Yeah, gave him some pain meds so he’s probably asleep again.”

“Head?”

Jakes nodded grimly, taking another deep breath.

“I’ll ask DeBryn about it when I see him, I’ll bring him over after work to sort Morse.”

“Have you had a chance to tell him he’s been released?” 

“Yes, can’t say he was over struck by you decision to take Morse home, but he agreed to helping.”

“He couldn’t stay there.” Jakes insisted.

“I know, I’m just warning you there might be a few comments made by the good doctor.”

“Expected nothing less.”

“You sure you don’t need help with anything else?”

“No, think I’ve got everything covered. Thanks again for the shopping.” Jakes said, following Thursday to the door.

“Well, if you do need me, you have my number, don’t hesitate to use it. I’ll come back later.”

Peter let him out, watching him drive away in the Jag, in the comfort that he didn’t have to go through this alone.

* * *

Morse woke a few hours later, Jakes never leaving his side, never letting go of the hand he could now hold without fear.

“I want a shower.”

“You can’t, Morse. You can’t get your bandages wet.”

“I can shower with my hands out in front of me.” Morse protested.

“So, when you say you want a shower, you really mean you want _me_ to shower you.”

“Please, Peter, I feel horrible.”

Peter considered it, there was nothing in Doctor Arsehole’s list of how to care for Morse so he decided it wouldn’t hurt. “Alright, reckon you can walk there?”

Morse nodded, “Only around 14 steps away.”

Of course, Morse could estimate how far he’d need to walk to everywhere in the flat, like a subconscious goal.

“Come on then.”

He pulled Morse to his feet, slightly easier than yesterday. “Ready?”

Morse nodded.

The first was always hardest, Peter decided, watching Morse nervously plant a foot down, leaning into Peter for balance who supported him by his elbow.

“That’s good, 13 to go.”

The next ten steps came easier, it was when they’d reached the door to the bathroom Morse sagged against him slightly. Peter took the hint and wrapped a hand around Morse’s waist, taking his weight before helping him sit on the edge of the peach coloured bathtub that Peter hated so much.

“Need help with your clothes?”

Morse thought for a second, his stubbornness clearly wanting to say no. “Yes.”

Peter was only happy to help, pulling the shirt over his head without making him move his arms up, still finding it hard after tearing some of the muscles in his shoulders.

“Stand up.” He wiggled the loose-fitting sweatpants off, closely followed by his shorts.

Morse blushed slightly, letting Peter manoeuvre him into the tub.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine Morse, keep your hands on the sides.” He reached for the shower head, running a hand through his hair as he soaked Morse with warm water. Morse closed his eyes, enjoying the heat.

He flinched slightly when Peter caught one of the stitches in the back of his head.

Peter instantly pulled away. “Shit, sorry.”

“S’ okay.”

Peter was already doubting his decision to let Morse shower. “You sure shampoo wont sting or anything?”

He could practically feel Morse’s eye roll. “Be fine.”

Peter squeezed out a small amount of Morse’s shampoo, massaging gently into his scalp. Morse hummed in appreciation.

“Like that?”

Morse simply hummed again, smiling.

Jakes tilted his head back, rinsing the suds from his hair, careful to not get any in his eyes.

“We should do this more often.” Morse murmured when Jakes started rubbing his soaped-up hands over his shoulders.

“Yeah, you would say that.” Covering him in cream coloured lather.

Morse smiled up to him with soft, wet lips. It would be rude to not kiss him, Peter thought to himself as he leaned down, putting his lips to Morse’s for a moment.

He eventually pulled away, more from the awkward angle than actually wanting to.

He rinsed the soap off, careful of to not spray Morse’s wrists.

“I’ll go grab a towel.” Jakes said, planting one last kiss on Morse’s damp hair before walking back to the bedroom.

He found Morse’s towel in the bottom drawer next to Peters. He smiled, picking it up before he heard a thud coming from the bathroom.

“Morse?!”

He found his feet immediately, almost running to the bathroom where he found Morse in a bundle of limbs on the floor next to the bath.

“Morse what the hell? Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What if you smacked your head on the sink?!” He shouted angrily, helping Morse into a seated position.

“Jus’ wanted to get out the bath.” He replied in a small voice.

Jakes didn’t have time to pity him, still consumed in worry. “You know you can’t stand up without help!”

Morse shook his head, losing his calm. “I know! Don’t you think I know that? That I literally can’t do anything without you? I’m a fucking invalid Peter.”

“No, you aren’t Morse, don’t you dare think that.” He asserted, placing a strong hand on his neck, covering the almost faded finger marks.

Morse huffed a laugh. “I can’t even fucking walk! I’m worse than a child.”

“You are not!”

“I am!”

“Fine.” Peter said, throwing up his arms and standing. “Come on, get up.”

“What?”

Jakes moved so his back was on the door frame, meters from Morse, arms crossed against his chest. “Get up, now.”

“Wha- I can’t.”

“You can. Come on.”

Morse shook his head in astonishment at Peters stubbornness but he, like Peter, wasn’t one to give in.

He gripped the side of the bathtub with his hands, pushing himself onto his knees slowly.

It killed Peter to see him struggling so much but he knew Morse needed to know he could do this, that he wasn’t useless.

Morse finally got one foot planted on the ground and used all of his energy to shakily push himself to stand. And he did. He stood, by himself.

Jakes couldn’t hold back the huge grin. Morse looked to him, knees wobbling slightly, and smiled. “Now can you please give me that towel?”

Jakes laughed realising Morse was still bollock naked in front of him.

Peter quickly moved to him and wrapped the towel over his shoulders, holding him close. “Knew you could do it.”

Morse smiled into the crook of Jakes’ neck. 

“Let’s get you back to bed.”

Surprisingly, Morse didn’t argue, letting Peter take almost all of his weight as they walked back to the bedroom.

* * *

DeBryn and Thursday arrived just after five, Morse had been awake for a while, listening to Jakes read to him, head in Peter’s lap.

“Ah, Morse. How are you feeling?” Max asked, instinctively putting the back of his hand to Morse’s forehead.

“Better.”

“How’s the head?”

“Still rings a bit, getting there though.” Morse admitted.

“We’ll have to keep an eye on that.” DeBryn noted, rummaging through his case for a syringe.

“I’ve been informed to take your bloods and change your bandages.” Max said to Morse whilst shooting a disapproving look at Peter who gave him a grateful smile in return.

“Sharp sting.”

Morse winced at DeBryn inserting the needle into the crook of his arm.

Peter put a supportive hand on Morse’s shoulder as he stood close to his side.

Thursday standing in the doorway gave him a ‘he doesn’t need a guard dog look’, whilst looking all the more concerned himself.

“They’re healing well.” Max thought out loud as he replaced the bandages on Morse’s wrists. The once red raw skin surrounded by blood that peter thought cut through to the bone had scabbed over, the skin around it sporting a lighter pink.

“Feel up to some food?”

“A yoghurt doesn’t count as food.”

“Well it’s the only thing you’ll be able to stomach so you best get used to it.”

Morse surprisingly didn’t scowl.

Thursday returned a few minutes later with a yoghurt and spoon, ushering a reluctant Peter out of the room.

* * *

“There you go.” Max said, handing the pot to Morse.

“Thanks. You don’t need to watch you know.” He muttered, swirling the spoon around in the white yoghurt.

“And risk you choking?”

“On yoghurt? Come on.”

“Morse you haven’t eaten for over a week, trust me when I tell you anything is a possibility.”

Morse reluctantly accepted he wasn’t going to be allowed to eat in peace and started taking small mouthfuls of the natural yoghurt.

“Can I ask you something?” He asked, a few scoops in.

“How’s he been? Through all this I mean.”

Max didn’t need to ask who ‘he’ was. “Isn’t that something you should be asking him?”

“I tried before; he wouldn’t elaborate past ‘fine’”

“He’s coped surprisingly well save for the lack of sleep and forgetting life’s basic necessities.” Max replied, matter-of-factly.

“I thought as much.” Morse could always tell when Peter was hiding things from him. he knew he hadn’t been sleeping, the suitcases under his eyes were evidence enough, he just wished Peter would admit it to him instead of putting a brave face on.

“Make sure he gets some sleep tonight, both of you. god knows he needs it.”

Morse nodded, finishing the rest of the tasteless yoghurt.

* * *

Morse was already dozing by the time Max got to the bedroom door, letting himself out silently.

“How was it?” Peter was on him instantly.

“Fine, no signs of nausea or discomfort. He’s sleeping now.”

Peter let out a long breath. “Thanks, doc.”

“I’ll be round again the day after next, but don’t hesitate to contact me if you need me in the meantime.” Max said to jakes as they stopped by the front door. “He seems in better spirits here.”

“He is, he-“

“- hates hospitals, yes I know. Look after yourself, Peter. don’t think I can’t tell you haven’t eaten today.”

Peter gave him a guilty smile and said his goodbyes to the two men.

Once he’d locked up the, now, three locks on the door, he made his way into the kitchen and made some toast, still unable to muster up an appetite.

Peter returned to the room after changing into his pyjamas to find Morse peacefully snoozing. He looked over his relaxed features and hesitated. He couldn’t share a bed with him. What if he rolled over in the night and hurt Morse somehow, or if he subconsciously hogged the sheets like he usually did and left Morse shivering. No, he decided, easier if he took the couch.

And he almost did, he picked up his pillow and found a spare quilt on top of the wardrobe, but it dislodged a box next to it, causing it to fall with a loud thud.

“Shit.” Peter muttered, going to kick the small box to the side.

“Pe’r?” Morse asked, voice thick from sleep.

“Hey, Morse, go back to sleep.”

“What’re you doing?”

He looked down to the pillow under his arm. “Oh, I, ugh, didn’t want to disturb you sleeping.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Peter. come to bed.”

“But what if I hurt you? What if I roll onto one of your wrists or –“

“Peter stop it. You won’t hurt me, please come to bed.”

And Peter would have protested again if it weren’t for those all-consuming hazy blue eyes, practically _begging_ him to come to bed.

“Fine, but if I do anything you need to tell me.”

Morse smiled, victorious. “Sure.”

He threw the pillow back down and slid under the covers on his side of the bed.

Morse instantly rolled onto his side and closed the distance between them, burying his head in Peter’s chest.

“Morse-“

“I’m fine, Peter... Just hold me.” Morse wasn’t asking, it was a request.

Peter hesitantly obliged, wrapping him arms around Morse, pulling him closer to him.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Peter slept in the warm comfort of his lover soundly snoring into his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow who knew I was capable of producing vaguely fluffy content  
> I've officially given the fic an end game of 20 chapters and Im sad lol help 
> 
> Forever grateful for any and all feedback <3 thank you for reading xx


	18. I'll be alright

Eventually he was grateful Morse had made him sleep curled around him with his arm wrapped over Morse’s chest, he could feel his heartbeat and for so long it was what he needed, just to know he was alive and well and _there_. And for the first time since Morse was taken, he didn’t have nightmares.

Peter wasn’t sure how long he’d been sleeping but he knew it can’t have been long before he woke to the man beside him whimpering and shaking in his sleep.

He wasn’t sure whether to wake him, initially putting a comforting hand on his arm but Morse shied away from his touch.

“Morse, wake up darlin’, it’s just a dream.”

Morse’s eyes were scrunched shut, trying to curl himself into a ball.

“ _Morse_.”

Morse bolted up, eyes wide in fear.

“Morse! Hey, hey you’re okay.” Peter immediately reached to him, bracing his hands on Morse’s shoulders.

“P- Peter?”

“Yeah Morse, deep breaths. You’re home remember? You’re safe.”

Morse nodded, trying to take longer inhales but failing.

“P-P-Peter.” he stuttered out between shallow fearful breaths.

“I’m right here Morse, you’re safe. Just try and breathe for me.”

Morse nodded, settling down slightly.

“Want to talk about it?”

Morse shook his head.

“Okay, that’s okay. Do you want to try sleeping again?”

“I cant I-“

“That’s okay, c’mere, lie down.”

He moved Morse so he was lying between his legs, back resting on Peters chest, head resting on his shoulder.

Peter wrapped his hands around Morse’s chest protectively. “Maybe tomorrow we can sit in the garden for a while, be nice to have some fresh air, right?”

“Sounds nice.”

“I could read to you some more; we’ve almost finished that book.”

Morse hummed in agreement, appreciating the change of topic.

“How you feeling now?”

Morse tensed. “Fine, jus’ a dream.”

“It's not just a dream Morse.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a while after that, finding comfort in the other man’s touch.

“when I close my eyes, it feels like I’m still there. My wrists are still wrapped, my head still aches. Sometimes I forget you found me.”

“Do you want the bandages off?” Is all Peter could think to ask. He couldn’t process the last part of Morse’s sentence, couldn’t fathom the thought.

“Can’t, doctor said they could get infected if I do.”

Once Peter could finally digest what Morse had said to him his mind made a list of horrid scenarios in his head, all of which he needed answers for. “Do you… do you still feel like that when I’m holding you?”

Morse shook his head. “No, not like this, I can feel you breathing, its… comforting.”

“You don’t ever think I’m… him, do you?”

“No, Peter. never.”

Peter shifted slightly. “You did, I think. The first few times you woke up.”

Morse craned his neck back to look at Peter. “I’m sorry, Peter, really. I didn’t know where I was.”

“I know, love, you were on some pretty good pain killers.” He replied softly. He paused, dreading the question he really needed to ask. “You aren’t scared of me, are you?”

“God no.” Morse’s voice sounded raw. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you doubt me, I could never be afraid of you, Peter.”

Peter sighed in relief. “Want to try and sleep like this? See if it helps the dreams.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it can’t be comfortable for you to sleep like this.”

“I don’t mind, Endeavour. I don’t want to let you go just yet.”

“M’kay.”

Morse settled down soon after that, chest rising and falling slower and deeper as he succumbed to sleep.

Peter didn’t move, holding Morse against him in the dark of the room. He knew he wasn’t going to sleep sat leaning against the bed frame like that, but he really didn’t care.

He leaned down so he couldn’t nuzzle into Morse’s hair, breathing in the familiar scent. It smelt of soap and warmth and safety and he couldn’t get enough of it.

* * *

Morse woke slowly, aware of the warm body beneath him. Safe.

He opened his eyes and for once the light of the room didn’t make his head ache. In fact, his head didn’t ache at all.

Much to his surprise he looked up to find Peter dozing, his head resting at an uncomfortable angle on the top of the bed frame which would be sure to make him stiff.

Morse didn’t wake him though. In truth Peter looked as bad as him, save for the stitches and bandages. Peter had worn himself out looking after him, not that he’d admit it to anyone, and Morse couldn’t help feeling guilty.

Peter can’t have slept well, if at all in the days Iverson had him and now he was home he still wasn’t sleeping because Morse kept him up.

He looked down to Peters arms that were still wrapped around him like a barrier to the outside world. He lifted his hands to rest on Peters forearms, but the subtle move was enough to wake Peter.

“ugh.” Peter released, cracking his neck back into a natural position, unaware of the eyes watching him.

“Morse?”

“Morning.”

“Time is it?”

“Not sure, think I lost my watch.”

“Might be in evidence, I can’t imagine it’ll be in the best shape though.”

Morse looked to his wrapped wrist a little at loss. He always wore that watch. It wasn’t necessarily sentimental, his father had given it to him one Christmas, complaining that he was always late. It wasn’t expensive, it was already second hand when he was gifted it, he didn’t mind though, it was practical and worked and that’s all that mattered. Still, the lack of it made his wrist feel unnaturally lighter.

“It’s okay, don’t think I’d want it back anyways.”

“Hungry?”

“For yoghurt? Not particularly.”

“Only for one more day, Morse, then you can have fruit and toast.”

Morse rolled his eyes. “What a treat.”

“Lucky for you I make a mean fruit salad.”

“I also wouldn’t mind a mean glass of scotch.”

Peter shook his head. “First, it’s like 8am, second you can’t have alcohol for at least a month, doctors’ orders.”

“Bet that made Thursday laugh.”

“Yeah, it did. Think he’s coming around this afternoon.” He said, letting his face fall into the crook of Morse’s neck.

“He doesn’t have to. I wish people would stop fussing.”

“Afraid this is what happens when you almost die, people fuss over you.”

Morse huffed, sitting up so Peter could finally move from under him.

Without thinking Morse pushed himself to his feet and padded slowly to the door before finding Peter staring wide eyed at him. “What’s wrong?”

Peter just beamed at him.

“What?” He looked down. “Oh.”

Jakes didn’t waste any time jumping out of bed and pulling him into a hug. “You made it look easy.”

“Its walking Peter, it is easy.”

* * *

Morse got increasingly better by the day, he could walk further, stay up for most of the day, even kept down the toast Peter had given him the third Morning he was home, but when sleep eventually came he was still plagued with nightmares.

Peter was sleeping a bit better, despite waking at least twice a night to Morse shaking in his arms, a few hours were better than nothing. He tried to nap on the sofa a few times when Morse had dozed off during the day, but he found he had the same problem as Morse did when he slept alone.

Morse was getting increasingly more independent though, which gave Morse the drive he was lacking back. A week after he came home, he made his own food for lunch, even showered on his own on the condition he didn’t lock the door and would call for Peter the second he needed him.

But they hadn’t really talked about what happened, just trying to carry on with their normal routine. Morse was still on medical leave and would be for at least another two weeks, but Jakes had reluctantly returned to the station for morning shifts after Morse insisted he didn’t have to play nurse all day, especially since he could look after himself again.

It was over a week since Peter brought Morse home when he came home to the smell of cooking.

“Morse?” He called out, bag in hand, to find Morse cooking eggs and bacon in the kitchen.

“Hey, how was work?” Morse asked casually, glancing over his shoulder for a second before returning his attention to not burning the eggs.

“Fine, what’s all this?”

“Thought I’d do something for you for once.”

Jakes smiled, wrapping his arms around Morse from behind. “You didn’t have to Morse, but thank you.” he kissed Morse’s shoulder, setting out some plates.

He set the bag on the side, deciding to show Morse to contents later.

“Anything exciting happen?” he asked after plating out the food.

Jakes didn’t waste any time tucking in, he stayed in bed longer with Morse that morning, sacrificing his time for breakfast. It was worth it. “No, Thursday reassigned your car thefts to me for now but I’m having no luck.”

“I couldn’t find anything either, I couldn’t even tell if they were connected.”

“Well leave it with me, I’ll get it cracked in a week.”

Morse smirked. “Of course, you will.”

They finished lunch, Peter leaving the dirty plates in the sink, and picked up the carrier bag on the way back.

“I, ugh, got you something.” He said, suddenly nervous.

He got a box out of the green bag and slid it over to Morse where he sat.

“Peter-“

“Go on, open it.”

Morse opened the box hesitantly, breath catching in his throat.

The silver face shone, hand ticking perfectly in time, the arms were a simple black leather, resembling his old watch but completely different.

This watch was new and made with care and bought with love. Simple yet perfect. And expensive looking.

“Peter this is…”

“No, before you ask it wasn’t expensive and don’t even try to get me to take it back. I won’t.”

“It’s too much Peter, we don’t have the money.”

He wasn’t sure when their finances became combined, but he wasn’t complaining. It was nice to know they had each other’s back in every aspect. “We do, I set some wages aside. And we certainly will if you accept my next offer.”

Morse raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“Move in with me.”

Morse looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “What?”

“Move in with me, here. Permanently.”

“Peter, we can’t – it’d be too suspicious.”

“No, it wouldn’t, you were thinking of getting a flat share with Strange a while back, why can’t I with you? Besides after a month of leave money would be tight, the perfect excuse.”

“But I wouldn’t be sharing a bed with Strange.”

“People wouldn’t know we share a bed.”

“What would we tell people?”

“The same thing we would if it were you and Strange. Face it Morse, we spend every night together, we’ve been together long enough to know it’s a safe investment, I know all your terrible habits and I don’t think I could face going to your flat again after-“

Morse looked down. “My lease does end in a few weeks.”

“Is that a yes?”

Morse tried to hide his smile. “Yes. We’ll need to make your spare room actually look like my room though in case anyone comes knocking.”

“Of course, can’t have another Thursday incident.” Peter replied, grinning like a child on Christmas morning.

Morse laughed “I wish I could’ve seen your face.”

“I thought he was going to kill me. Sent Strange out the room so he could tear me a new one and then straight up asked me if I loved you.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said yes, what do you think? God, I told him I love you more than everything and anything, I couldn’t stop myself, I was out my mind.”

“I think you can be let off, given the circumstance.” There he goes again, avoiding the topic. Given the _circumstance_ he’d been abducted by a _psychopath_.

Jakes didn’t dwell, enjoying the lighter tone of the conversation. “And before you asked, yes he’s already threatened to break my legs if I ever hurt you”

“Only your legs?” Morse teased.

“I think that would just be the starter. I think I’d get off lighter if it was Joan.”

Morse laughed. “You tried at one point.”

“Yeah, well I was being stupid. And then you ended up walking her home. Always been the better person.”

“I think you can be excused on the foundations of preservation of life. Thursday would have definitely killed you finding you with Joan in the Moonlight Rooms, of all places.”

Jakes sighed. “Yeah, not one of finest nights.”

“How things change.” Morse murmured softly, looking back to the watch, letting his fingers trace lightly around the face’s edge.

“I can sign the jag out next week to move your things over, if you like.”

Morse nodded. “Well, since that pokey room is now mine, can I repaint?”

“What’s wrong with how it is?” Jakes questioned, unimpressed by the request.

“Am I really the sort of person to have mustard and purple wallpaper in my room?”

Jakes cracked a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took longer than expected, it takes me longer to write fluff but I got there eventually and almost have the next chapter done too!! Let me know what you think of it :))) thank you for reading as always <3


	19. This is my mess (but you can call him Morse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys have a well needed talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im actually so happy with this chapter, I hope you enjoy it <3 its a chonky one

That night was particularly bad, Morse had been crying in his sleep, not uncommon of late, but then he woke screaming, a heart-breaking cry that would haunt Peter for years to come.

“Morse!” Peter immediately pulled Morse into him, wrapping him into his chest so the younger man was practically sat on his lap.

Instead of the _Peter,_ _Peter,_ _Peter_ Morse usually cried, this time he was silent, sobbing into Peter’s shoulder. He couldn’t decide if that was a good thing that maybe Morse didn’t have to call out to him to know he was there or if he was that broken from his dream, he couldn’t even form the words.

“Shh Morse, you’re alright. I’ve got you.”

He rocked Morse back and forwards in his lap like a new-born baby, hushing and murmuring soft words even when Peters heart was still racing at one hundred miles an hour. He thought they’d moved past the screams.

Morse’s hands clutched at Peters sleepshirt with a vice-like grip, face buried in his chest as sobs wracked through him.

Peter cupped the back of Morse’s head with one hand, other wrapped around his back, keeping him close as the younger man fell apart. Peter was still rocking Morse when his breathing deepened, and body relaxed as he fell asleep, likely from exhaustion more than a conscious choice.

Peter didn’t lie him back down though, continuing to lull his lover in his arms. He didn’t want to put him down just yet; it wasn’t just Morse that needed the contact. Sometimes Peter just needed to hold Morse, to remind himself that he was there with him, that they saved him.

He wasn’t sure when he’d started crying but when the tears came Peter couldn’t get them to stop, dropping his head into the nape of Morse’s neck as he wept to his sleeping partner. 

It must have been an hour before Peter had eventually lowered him and Morse back down to the mattress, Morse still clinging to him in his unconscious state, half his body draped over Peter’s.

He eventually slept, one hand cradling Morse’s head, the other wrapped around his waist.

* * *

Peter felt dreadful the next morning after only a few hours sleep. He woke to the piercing shrill of the alarm clock making almost jump out the bed. The sudden shift roused Morse who was still clung to Peter’s chest, duvet kicked to the end of the bed.

He silenced the alarm before placing a kiss on the top of Morse’s head. “Sorry, love.”

“S’ okay.” He slurred sleepily.

“I don’t have to go to work.” Peter murmured, rolling Morse onto his side of the bed so he could sit up.

Morse frowned. “Why wouldn’t you go to work?”

“Oh, I don’t know Morse, maybe because you really weren’t alright last night.” Morse didn’t deserve the bluntness of his response but playing dumb wasn’t going to help either of them.

Morse sighed. “It was just a –“

“If you say it was just a dream, Morse I swear to god I’m going to throw something.” Jakes cut in, going to stand.

“I know it was bad, but I’m fine now.”

Peter threw his hands up in annoyance. “You’re not fine Morse! You wont even talk to me about it!”

“There’s nothing to say, Peter they’re just dreams.” Morse, said, sinking back into the bed like it was a normal morning conversation.

“Why won’t you talk to me, Morse?” Peter asked in a defeated voice, searching for Morse’s eyes.

“About what? About some stupid dreams?”

“Anything! All of it!”

“And what about you? when are you going to talk to me?”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Me? I’m not the one who’s having panic attacks every night!”

“No, you’re just the one who can’t sleep!”

That was it. Peter couldn’t do this right now. He shook his head furiously before storming out the back door, grabbing a pack of cigarettes on the way.

Why was Morse being so bloody obstinate about talking to him? Doesn’t he know he could tell Peter anything? And then to spin it on him like Peter was the one needing help. 

He checked his watch after his cigarette, realising he had all of ten minutes to get to work, and if Morse was going to be a stubborn bastard then to hell with it. He’d survive four hours without him.

When he went back in the flat Morse was sat cross legged on the sofa, hunched over yesterday’s paper. He didn’t look up when Peter walked past him to the kitchen. He grabbed some toast, threw a suit on, and went for the door, turning back to Morse at the last second.

“I’m going to work and when I get back, we’re going to talk.” He closed the door not very gently behind him.

* * *

He wasn’t sure what he was going to say to Morse, but they needed to talk, he needed to know why Morse wouldn’t confide in him when he was so clearly struggling to handle everything. He didn’t want to lose his temper though, Morse was stubborn at the best of times, Peter needed to remember to be patient. Shouting at him would help nobody.

When he finally got back just after midday from his shift Morse was dressed and waiting for him in the living room. Just seeing him sat there looking at him made all the tension Peter had been carrying seep away.

“Morse-“

“Peter I-“

“Sorry.” They both uttered.

Morse moved to Peter, hand pulling at the opposite ear lobe. “Peter I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shut you out.”

Peter blinked. Well that was easy. “Why wouldn’t you want to talk to me about it?”

“Because talking about it makes it real.” Sighed Morse, still looking tense.

Peter raised a hand, cupping Morse’s jaw softly. “Morse, what happened to you was real, you need to talk to me, or anyone, before it eats you up.”

“I know, I try but sometimes I just don’t know what to say, it feels stupid. I don’t want to burden you.” Morse muttered, leaning into Peters touch, placing one of his hands over it.

“Don’t be stupid Morse, you can always talk to me, it’s what I’m here for.”

“I know.”

Peter let his hand fall back to his side. “So do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now… I will though, I promise. I just need time to get my head around it.” 

Morse looked back up to him. “I don’t mind taking the couch or something tonight if you want to get some sleep.”

Jakes blinked. “What? Morse no way in hell. We’re both sleeping in that bed together, I want to be there for you.”

“But you aren’t sleeping.”

“And if I’m not there you panic.” _And I can’t sleep without you either_ was left unsaid by Peter.

“Okay.”

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t okay?”

“I don’t know, Peter, I told you I need time to process it, but what about you?”

Not this again. “Me?”

“Yes, you won't talk to me about you, about how you’ve been.”

Jakes looked to the ceiling, taking a small breath. “I’m fine, Morse.”

Morse stepped back, shaking his head. “You’re such a bloody hypocrite.”

“I’m fine! I’m just worried about you!”

“I know, I can see that! You’re scared to leave me alone for ten seconds for gods sakes, I need space sometimes you know?”

“I give you space! I go to work, I-“

“Exactly, you go to work, that’s it. Sometimes you’ll make a mad dash to the shop but that’s it!” Morse softened looking at Peters worn looks. “Look, Peter, you know I love you, more than you know, but I need time and so do you. You need to go out, see your friends.”

Peter bowed his head and sighed. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Morse did have a point. For the past two weeks his life had completely revolved around him, but who could blame him? Almost losing the most precious thing in your life was hard to deal with.

“Like going to your pub quiz.”

“What?”

“Your pub quiz you always go to on a Tuesday.”

“Morse what if-“

“See? You’re scared to leave me alone even though I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

“I’m not scared I just…” Don’t want to. Its true, Peter had been slightly overprotective lately, and maybe he did hover a little. “Fine, I’ll go.”

Morse gave him a brief smile. “Good.”

* * *

Morse didn’t want it to come to this. He loved Peter, more than anything in the world, but needed to accept he wasn’t alright, and Morse knew how he could fix it. Peter just needed a few good nights sleep, he’ll see.

He knew there was no way he’d let Morse sleep on the sofa and Morse accepted he wasn’t going to able to go back to his old flat.

He wrote a small note and left it on the side, setting off to Thursday’s will a small bag almost an hour after Peter had left to the pub.

In retrospect he should have called and warned Thursday he was wanting to stay the night before he set off on he journey to his house and almost three quarters of the walk there he accepted this might not be good for his health. He was fitter and stronger and could walk easily around the house, but this was maybe a step to far – ignoring the pun – and currently no one knew where he was.

He eventually arrived out of breath and exhausted. He hesitantly knocked on the door, regretting the idea already. He should have really asked before turning up on his doorstep late in the evening, what was he thinking?

The door opened revealing Thursday in his cardigan, pipe in hand.

“Morse?” Thursday blinked. “What are you doing here? I bloody hope you didn’t walk here. You did, didn’t you, you fool. Come on, come in before you fall.”

Thursday took Morse by the elbow, helping Morse into the den.

“Where’s sergeant Jakes?” Thursday asked, once Morse collapsed onto the well-loved sofa.

Morse leaned his head back on the top of the sofa. “Pub.”

Thursday frowned. “Has something happened?”

“No, he just needs some peace and quiet, I’ve been keeping him up every night.”

“And you discussed that with him?” Thursday questioned, hands on his hips as if Morse was in the wrong for being a considerate partner.

“Not in so many words.” Morse muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Thursday shook his head. “You’re a damned idiot, you know that?”

“Why? He needs this, sir. You’ve seen the state he’s in, just needs some sleep.”

Thursday looked at him astonished. It wasn’t his place to tell him that sleeping alone really wasn’t going to help Jakes, even slightly.

“Is it alright if I stay? Just for tonight.”

“I don’t think you’ll be staying here that long, but you can on my account.” Thursday huffed. “I need to call Jakes.”

“What? Why? He’s not home.”

“Because he’s going to go out of his mind! What the hell were you thinking?”

“Its fine I left a note.”

“For a genius you can be a complete moron.” Thursday let out a long sigh.

This was not going to end well.

* * *

Peter didn’t exactly rush home after the pub, the reason he was almost breaking into a jog was because it was cold, not to get back home to Morse. No.

He didn’t call to Morse and let him know he was home in case he’d fallen asleep, and after finding the living room empty, he suspected he was right.

Only when entering the bedroom, it was empty. “Morse?”

He made his way to the bathroom, finding that too vacant. “Morse?” He called a little louder, panic brewing.

He all but ran into the kitchen praying to god he was just making a snack, but he wasn’t there either. He wasn’t there.

Adrenaline was now coursing through his veins. “Morse!”

Where the hell was he? Where would he have gone?

The only reassurance he had right now is was Iverson was safely locked up. He was sure of that.

Had he tried to go for a walk? Surely not at almost 10:30. Had he gone to his flat? He wouldn’t do that, or at least he prayed he hadn’t, seeing his own blood staining the carpet is not what he needed right now. But where else would he go? He had no idea. He’d left him.

He ran for his coat, preparing to roam the streets for the younger man, before noticing a piece of paper on the coffee table, making him stop in his tracks.

He quickly opened the letter.

_Peter,_

_I’ve gone to Thursday’s so you can get some sleep, you’ll thank me in the morning._

_Yours, M._

Peter stared down furiously at his words. What the hell was Morse thinking?

He grabbed the phone, quickly putting in Thursday’s number who answered the phone like he was expecting him.

“Is he there?” Jakes ground out, words almost seeping with anger.

Thursday sighed. “Yes.”

He put the phone down without another word and stormed out the door.

* * *

He almost broke down Thursday’s door banging on it.

Thursday quickly opened the door. “Jakes, before you say anything I’ve already scolded him for being so stupid-“

“Where is he?” And in that moment even Thursday looked slightly afraid of Peter.

Thursday stepped aside, pointing to the den.

Peter thundered past, finding Morse sat with his head in his hands.

“Peter-“ He looked up, meeting Peters eyes that were concerningly dark.

“You cannot _believe_ the surprise I got home from the pub – which you _insisted_ I went to-to find you _gone_.” He gritted out in a dangerously low voice.

Morse opened his mouth to speak but Peter was by far finished.

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking? Did you walk here? Actually, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know. What I _do_ want to know is why the fuck you’d do that to me.”

“I just wanted you to get some-“

“Don’t.” He snapped, taking a deep breath to collect his thoughts and stop himself from screaming at Morse. “Do you know the last time I came home to an empty house I found your fucking _blood_ all over the carpet and you almost died. You almost fucking _died_ Morse. And then I get home tonight to-“

He stopped, voice breaking. He needed to keep it together.

“You wanna’ know why I’m scared of leaving you alone? Why I’ve been hovering like some over-protective mother? Because last time I left you alone with a gut feeling that I should be there for you, a maniac almost killed you.”

“I left a note-“

“Endeavour shut the fuck up. You wanna’ talk about sleeping apart? Fine.”

Morse gulped.

“You can’t sleep without me, you know that. So that alone makes your decision completely fucking ridiculous. What you clearly haven’t realised is _me_ , Morse. _I_ can’t sleep without you. When you were gone, I didn’t sleep, the only times I managed to was when I literally passed out from exhaustion. And when we got you back, I still couldn’t sleep when I wasn’t holding you to know that you were alive. So, no Morse, you leaving wouldn’t give me a good night’s sleep, you utter idiot. And I’m sorry to lumber this all on you, I really am, but I can’t do this without you. It almost fucking _killed_ me losing you. I was useless, I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep and even when I got you back I was so scared- _so_ scared- that if I left you alone, for even just a second, you’d disappear.”

Peter was very aware of the tears running down his face and the way his hands were shaking uncontrollably as the adrenaline wore off, but he wasn’t finished. He only took a pause because he all but shouted his speech in a single breath.

“Every time I try sleeping without you, I dream I was too late, that I couldn’t save you and I don’t know how many more dreams like that I can take. I can’t fucking lose you Morse.”

Morse stared at him, eyes wide. “Shit Peter, and you couldn’t tell me this before?”

Peter rubbed his face with his hands. “I didn’t want to worry you, and they you left and it was like the fucking flood barriers broke.”

“I should have talked to you, I’m sorry Peter. I just saw you weren’t sleeping because I kept you up, thought you’d like the peace.”

Peter sighed. “I get why you did it, but for once you couldn’t be more wrong.”

“I just thought you were never going to admit you needed rest, I thought this was what you needed.”

“No, Morse what I need is _you_.” He said, holding out his hands, pulling the younger man up and into his chest in a tight embrace. “Never do that again or next time you won’t be let off so lightly.”

Morse raised an eyebrow. “This was lightly?”

“You have no idea.” Jakes mumbled into Morse’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be damn glad I love you or I’d kill you for scaring me so much.”

“Should I pre-order an ambulance or am I too late?” Thursday mused from the corridor.

Peter immediately broke away from Morse, straightening himself out. “Shit, sorry sir... How much of that did you hear?”

Thursday raised an eyebrow. “Enough to be surprised he’s still in one piece.”

Peter blushed when Win popped into view, going a bright shade of red. “Everything alright?”

“Yes, Mrs Thursday, I’m sorry for walking in like that.”

“Don’t worry about it, lad, quite understandable.” Thursday forgave, putting a hand on Win’s shoulder.

Jakes rubbed the back of his nervously. “Are ugh-“

“No, the kids are out with friends. And for the record, I did try calling you when he turned up, but you were out.”

Peter gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, sir.”

“Do you boys want a drink? Sounds like you need one.”

“Thank you for the offer Mrs Thursday, but I’ll be taking him home, if its all the same.”

“Is he up to it?” Thursday asked, looking Morse up and down.

Morse frowned at Thursday, clearly not appreciating being treated like he wasn’t part of the conversation. If he had the energy he would have protested.

Thursday did have a point though, Morse looked like a gust of wind could knock him over at this point.

Peter simply smirked, leaning over, shoulder to Morse’s hip and flung him over as he stood back up.

“Wha- Peter! Put me down!” Morse shouted, hooked over Peter’s strong shoulder.

Peter wrapped an arm around the back of Morse’s legs, holding them to his chest so he wouldn’t slip. “Not likely. Have a good night, sir, Mrs Thursday.”

“Peter you cannot carry me home!” Morse bellowed again as Peter made his way don’t the Thursdays’ drive.

“I can and I will. This is what you get when you try doing stupid shit.”

“What will people think?”

“That I’m carrying your sorry ass home.” Peter replied happily as he waltzed down the street.

“Exactly.”

“And?”

“Do you want to get arrested?” That was too serious for the situation he knew, but he’d say anything to get out of Peter carrying him like a sack of potatoes.

“I can pretend to be drunk, that’ll give me a good excuse.” Peter chirped below him.

Morse frowned incredulously. “Did you hit your head on your way to Thursdays?”

“Why do you build me up?”

“Peter-“

“Buttercup baby just to let me down, and mess me around.” Peter started singing with a spring in his step.

“Oh no-“

“And then worst of all, you never call baby.”

“Peter stop!”

“When you say you will, but I love you still. I need you, more than anyone darlin, you know that I have from the start.”

If there was ever a time Morse was going to die from embarrassment, it was going to be then.

* * *

Peter only put him down when they reached Peter’s – _their_ – flat.

“Bed, now.”

Morse was tiredly obliged, letting Peter almost drag him to the bedroom.

He helped Morse change into his pyjamas, “You’re going to ache tomorrow, you’re not meant to be walking for that long.”

Morse laid back, appreciating the mattress taking the weight of him.

He smiled. “Does that mean breakfast in bed?”

“You should be grateful I’m not making you sleep on the couch, you’re still in the doghouse.”

“Peter Jakes, holding a grudge?”

“There’s a first for everything.” He said lightly, sinking into bed next to Morse. They laid on their sides facing each other. Peter rested a hand on the side of Morse’s face, who closed his eyes humming at the warm contact.

“God Morse, please never do that to me again.” Peter whispered eventually, breaking the silence.

“I won’t, Peter. I promise. I thought I was helping you, I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know, love. You still scared the shit out of me though.”

Morse studied him. “Why didn’t you tell me about your dreams?”

“You had enough shit on your plate, how was I supposed to tell you that every time I close my eyes, I see you dead?” Jakes shrugged.

Morse gave him a sympathetic smile. “It’s hard to admit you’re not alright.”

“I know, but this isn’t going to just go away.”

Morse nodded, looking down, letting his hand intertwine with Peters free hand. “I dream I’m still there, that I was there for years… that you stopped looking.”

Jakes moved closer, moving his hand to cup the back of Morse’s head. “I’d have never stopped looking for you, Morse. Never.”

Morse leaned in, letting their foreheads touch. “I know, Peter. That’s why sleeping with you helps, feeling you there… but I can’t stop them, and I keep waking you, you’re exhausted.”

“It’ll get easier, Morse. You’re getting better every night; we don’t really have other options since we’ve agreed sleeping apart is a terrible idea.”

Morse nodded, looking guilty nonetheless.

“I’d never sleep again if it meant I could have you with me. Please don’t feel guilty, I want to be there for you.” he said, pressing a kiss to Morse’s lips.

Morse whispered into Peter’s lips. “I don’t deserve you.”

Peter pulled back, finding Morse’s eyes. “No, you deserve the whole fucking world, but I can’t give you that, so I guess you’re stuck with me.”

Morse smiled slightly, face falling slightly dark. “The worst part was thinking I’d never see you again.”

Peter paused. Apart from his official statement Morse had hardly spoken a word of his ordeal. He stayed silent, giving Morse time to speak.

“That’s all I could think about. Just one last time, just to see you one more time. I knew I was dying and when you found me, and I saw you, I thought that was it. I got what I wanted, and I was happy. I was so selfish.”

“That’s not selfish.”

“I just wanted to die in your arms.” He said, barely even a whisper. “How could I do that to you?”

“Not wanting to die alone isn’t selfish. It would have killed me, you’re right. I’m not sure if I’d have ever been okay again, but thinking you died alone in that fucking room would have been unbearable. No one deserves to be alone.”

Morse finally looked at him. “You’re not angry?”

Peter gently smiled. “No, Morse, I’m proud of you.”

“What?”

“You held on for me, that’s all I could have ever asked for.” He closed their lips together again, leaving a lingering kiss.

“I love you, Peter.”

“I love you too. God knows I’ll never let anything happen to you again.

He leaned in for another kiss, letting his hand roam to the back of Morse’s neck.

This time it was Morse that pulled back. “What was it like? the days I was gone.”

“Ha. Single-handedly the worst three days of my life. Everyone was on edge, I was a nightmare, I almost killed McNutt. It was my job to find you and I couldn’t.”

“But you did.”

“I did. As soon as I heard Iverson’s name, I knew it was him.” Peter bowed his head. “We should have been more prepared, shouldn’t have left back up so late.”

“You did good Peter, you got me, you arrested him. What more could you have done?”

“I could have not beaten him bloody, for a start.”

“What?”

Peter wouldn’t look at him, scared of what he’d see in Morse’s eyes if he did. “Iverson. He wouldn’t tell me where you were, I was losing my mind. I almost fucking killed him Morse, I fractured is skull.”

Morse stared at him, unblinking. “Shit, Peter, you’re telling me this now?”

“I didn’t want to tell you; I didn’t want you to think less of me. He told me you were dead, and I just lost it, Thursday had to drag me away.” Dammit why was he crying?

“Peter…” Morse moved closer, wrapping and arm around Peters head and back, pulling him close.

“I should be in jail for what I did.” Peter sobbed into Morse’s chest.

“That bastard deserved it. he killed three people; a skull fractures the least he deserved.”

Peter finally looked up, fear still swimming in his eyes. “You don’t hate me for it? You wouldn’t speak to Thursday after he’d punched that mechanic.”

Morse gave him a reassuring smile. “That was different, Peter. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“And what I did was right?”

“Not right, but quite attractive.”

Peter choked on a sob. “What?”

“Protecting my honour.” Morse said with a smirk.

“I tell you a beat a man bloody and you think its hot?”

“Beat him bloody _for_ _me_.”

Peter laughed and shook his head. “Endeavour Morse what am I going to do with you?”

“I could give you a few suggestions.” Morse said, leaning over so he straddled Jakes and leaned in for a deep kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had build me up buttercup stuck in my head for the past two days because of this bloody chapter XD
> 
> so this is like the last proper chapter :(((( the next is just an epilogue where they go to Thursdays for dinner and its all just fluff and tying the story up. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was one of my favourites to write, thank you for reading, the kudos and kind words <3 I love u all x


	20. Feels like home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse and Peter go for dinner at the Thursday's

“Morse, which tie?”

“Mm?” Came from Morse who hadn’t bothered to look up from the book he had his nose in.

“Come on Morse, this is important.”

Morse looked to Peter who was stood at the end of the bed, holding two ties to his chest with an exasperated look on his face.

“Either.” Morse shrugged, turning his attention to the hard back in his hand again.

Jakes tutted. “Forget I asked.”

“Why are you even wearing a tie? It’s just dinner.”

“Yes, dinner at the _Thursdays_.”

“Exactly, you don’t need to get dressed up.” Morse replied, still wearing the same shirt he’d worn during his desk duty shift and was likely to still be sporting for the rest of the evening.

Jakes threw his arms up in defeat. “Impressions Morse!”

Morse snorted. “Your first impression was bursting into their house and tearing me a new one, I think you’re a bit past ties now.”

Peter reddened, throwing him a scowl. “Yeah well, whose fault is that?”

Morse gave a half smile, looking back to his book whilst Peter turned back to the wardrobe to hunt for more ties.

“What did she say again?”

“’Fred and I were wondering if you and Peter would like to come for dinner tonight.’” Morse imitated in a voice which couldn’t be more dissimilar to Win’s.

“You’re sure?”

Morse rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m sure, Peter.”

“God, I don’t know why I’m so nervous.” Jakes muttered, patting down his hair for the hundredth time that hour.

“Neither do I, you see the man almost every day.”

“Yeah, but this is different Endeavour, this is… _dinner_.”

Morse really didn’t understand Peter’s irrationality. “Yes, dinner, hence why you don’t need a full-blown Peter Jakes Suit.”

“It feels more than just dinner though, it feels like I’m being taken to meet the bloody parents or something!”

Morse rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Peter.”

“That’s what this is!”

Morse gave up trying to read, setting his book by the bedside, and swinging his legs over the edge to sit up. “You seem to be forgetting, they’re not my parents.”

“They’re close enough! God, what if they interrogate me?”

“Well at least Thursdays already gotten the threats out of the way.” Morse teased as Peter changed his tie yet again.

Jakes huffed, back to Morse as he wrapped the striped blue into a Windsor knot.

Morse smiled, pushing off the bed and moving to Peter to encircle him in his arms.

Peter immediately relaxed into the contact, letting his head fall back onto Morse’s shoulder as Morse placed a firm kiss on Peters shoulder, letting his chin rest there.

“Don’t worry, Peter, it’ll be fine.” Morse murmured, planting another soft kiss in the nape of Peter’s clean-shaven neck.

Peter turned himself around in Morse’s arms, so they were face to face. smiling, he pulled Morse into him, letting their lips connect in a gentle, long kiss.

Morse eventually pulled away, “It’s going to be fine, Peter. Just dinner.”

“Just dinner.” Peter repeated, looking at Morse’s lips that were half curved into his usual smile. “I might need some liquid luck before we go.”

Morse laughed. “Peter Jakes I won’t let you go to dinner drunk, stop over thinking it.”

Peter gave him a nervous smile, pulling another tie from the drawer. “… What about this tie?”

* * *

They arrived at Thursday’s house ten minutes early due to Peter panicking over not wanting to be late as if the fifteen-minute walk could have turned into a 25-minute walk overnight.

“Morse, Peter, do come in!” Win welcomed happily, pulling each of them into a quick hug as they entered, something Morse often shied away from.

“Thank, you Mrs Thursday.” Peter said as she closed the door behind them.

“It’s Win, dear. I get enough of that from Morse.”

Peter smiled, following her into the dining room. 

“Dinner will be a few minutes, would you boys like a beer?”

“Ye-“

“He’ll have water, thank you. I’ll take a beer though.” Peter interjected, knowing Morse would have jumped at the opportunity for the beer, even against his doctors recommendation.

Morse scowled at him, slouching in his seat.

“One more week Morse, then you can have alcohol.”

“One more week and you’ll stop being a mother hen?”

“When you learn to listen to your doctors, and maybe some self-preservation, I’ll stop annoying you.”

Morse rolled his eyes knowing he’d never do either of those things.

“There you go, boys.” Win said cheerfully, placing the drinks down.

“Thank you, Mrs Th- Win.”

She gave him a fond smile. “You’ll do, love.” She spoke warmly before going to retrieve her simplified casserole to cater for Morse.

The food was placed in the centre of the table, the guests taking their portions first.

“Good to see you eating something proper, lad.” Thursday said happily watching Morse tucking in.

He flashed an embarrassed smile back, feeling the room looking at him.

After a few moments of eating with the ‘this is wonderful, Win’ and ‘you’ve out done yourself, Win’ comments, with her giving gratuitous smiles, she broke into casual conversation.

“Well, I’d have asked where the two of you met but I think its obvious.” Win exclaimed, taking a bite of food after.

Thursday shook his head. “Under my own bloody nose and I didn’t even notice, some detective I am.”

Jakes grinned. “In fairness, we did hate each other to begin with.”

“At it like kids in the playground they were, Win. Insult after insult, was a wonder I could get a word in between them!”

Jakes gave him an innocent look. “It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“it was from your side; you were one step from insubordination most of the time.”

“Well you know what they say, treat ‘em mean, keep them keen.” Jakes replied with a sly look on his face.

Morse just rolled his eyes, Win laughed.

She looked to the two of the curiously. “So, what changed?”

“I got arrested.” Morse said matter-of-factly, taking a mouthful of dumpling.

Peter shrugged in agreement. “Distance makes.”

“Of course, it wasn’t going to be straight forward with you two.”

“Nothing ever is.” Fred added.

“Well I for one think it's wonderful you have each other. I know for one Morse seems a lot happier.”

Morse shot her another awkward smile, reddening.

“And it's always good to know someone will stop him drinking to an early grave.” Fred joked, winking at Peter.

“Fred!”

“I’m certainly trying my best; think I’m going to put a lock on that whiskey cabinet.”

Morse gave him a playful elbow. “At least I don’t drink that foul lager crap.”

Jakes raised his eyebrows. “At least I know my limits.”

“Just not when it comes to cigarettes, hm?”

Fred shook his head. “See? This is what I deal with.”

Win smiled fondly at them. “Young love.”

Second portions were served out, albeit only a scoopful for Morse who felt fit to burst.

“So, Morse, cleaning up that flat of yours?”

Morse shook his head swallowing another mouthful. “Oh no, I don’t think I could go back there after…”

Thursday nodded grimly. “Good point, probably best to get a clean slate, got anywhere in mind? Can’t imagine anywhere will beat it for location, though.”

“Well I ugh-“ he looked to Peter unsure if he was happy with it being public knowledge.

“Morse is moving in with me.” Jakes said confidently, trying to hide a proud grin that was forcing a twitch in the side of his lips.

“Really?” Win asked with a beaming smile, Thursday simply staring with his eyebrows high enough to disappear into his hairline.

Jakes shrugged. “Thought it was the best option, I have a spare room, money's tight.” He made it sound so simple, so natural.

“He needed someone who could put up with his terrible habits.” Morse added jokingly.

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Endeavour.” Jakes said curtly, words contrasting the fond smile and warm eyes that were sent in his direction.

Thursday huffed a laugh. “Well, from what I heard, you aren’t one to speak about bad habits.”

Morse shot Peter an incredulous look. “Oh really?”

Jakes looked to Win, shaking his head. “If it wasn’t for me, we’d be living in a cesspit.”

“I’m not that bad!” Morse retaliated, shifting in his seat to face Peter.

“Have you ever used a hoover in your life?”

“Now who does that remind you of, Fred?” Win teased halfway through, earning an eye roll off Fred.

“Of course, I have!”

Jakes raised an eyebrow. “And where do I keep it in the flat?”

Morse scowled at him, unable to answer.

“Point and case.” Jakes declared, taking a sip of his beer.

“Sounds like you could use some housekeeping lessons from me.” Win teased to Morse who looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“Oh, _please_ do, I’ll schedule you in.” Jakes joked, putting a warm hand on Morse’s leg under the table, eliciting a small smile from the man.

“Aw, you two melt my heart.” Win said to the pair, practically glowing with happiness.

Morse and Peter exchange an embarrassed look, cheeks reddening.

Win quickly stacked and cleared the plates with the help of Morse and the four settled into the den with some glasses of brandy and a reluctant water for Morse.

“That was a lovely meal Mrs Thursday, thank you.” Morse said as Win handed him the water.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it dear, must be nice finally being back to normal.”

“It is, I’ll never take solid food for granted again.” He leaned back into the sofa, brushing Peters shoulder with his own as they sat.

Win gave him a smile. “I’ll have to give you the recipe, Peter.”

Peter nodded, swallowing a large gulp of the amber liquid. “That’d be great, god knows he’s an awkward bugger to cook for. Well, you are.”

“You just cook weird things. Have you ever heard of halloumi? Exactly.” Morse argued with his signature frown of disapproval.

“It's all the range these days!”

“All I’m saying is beans on toast and sausage and mash are underrated.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “You know what’s underrated? Me. cooking for you. every day.”

Thursday laughed. “Now, Jakes, we both know it’s for the best, unless you want the lad burning your kitchen down.”

“Or if I want to live on more than scotch. But that’s brain food, right Morse?”

“Brain food I’ve been deprived of.” Morse muttered begrudgingly.

“Don’t worry, next Monday we'll be sure to go to the pub for lunch, first pints on me.” Thursday said optimistically. Not that he’d admit it but he’d missed going to the pub with Morse.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Usually Morse would turn down his offer of buying him a drink but after so long he really didn’t care how he acquired a pint as long as it was bitter. He might have even accepted a lager he was so desperate.

“You boys planning on getting away this summer?” Win asked, admiring the seaside painting hanging pride of place in the living room.

Morse blinked. “Haven’t given it much thought. Work I suppose.”

Jakes didn’t react but Morse could tell he seemed slightly disappointed. He’d studied him long enough to notice the tiny twitch of his lip, the millisecond glance to his hands set in his lap that suggested a moments sadness. They’d never discussed it, but Morse could tell a holiday was what Peter secretly wanted, making Morse feel guilty for his flippant response.

Thursday shook his head, setting his glass down. “Don’t be daft lad, you have enough holidays saved to have half a year off!”

“Its hardly like we can book into a hotel.” Jakes countered with a dash of irritation in his voice. He wished more than anything for he and Morse to be able to live like a normal couple. To be able to flaunter around, hand in hand, book a room with a king-sized bed for the night without the fear of homophobic abuse.

“Why don’t you borrow our cottage?” Win chirped up after a moments thought.

“Great idea, Win.”

“What?” Morse and Peter stuttered in unison.

“It’s nothing too big, we have a nice little cottage down in Cornwall, had it donkeys years. It’d be good to get some use out of it.” Thursday explained.

“No, sir we couldn’t possibly-“

“Don’t be daft, hardly like we’ll be using it what with the kids last summer at home, and god knows you need the break.”

Jakes looked hopefully to Morse before responding. “we’ll think about it.”

“Morse smiled back. “Yeah.”

They continued chatting and joking – usually at Morse or Freds expense – for another few hours before calling it a night just before 11pm.

“You boys want a taxi calling?” Win asked, handing Peter his coat.

“No, thank you Win, we’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure, you’re not too tired are you Morse?”

“No, I’m fine, really.” Morse smiled trying to convince her that he really was fine. Even the doctors had said he’d regained his strength well. Fully recovered one of the physiotherapists had told him, he’d never seen Jake so happy.

They bid farewell and made their way back home. “See? Told you it was nothing to worry about.” Morse said smugly walking with his hands stuffed into his coat pockets.

“They’re good people.”

“You already knew that Peter.”

“Yeah but _really_ good, you know. Not everyone’s so open to – well – _this_. And to offer us their holiday home?” Jakes exclaimed, elbowing Morse excitedly as they walked.

“You want that? A holiday?”

“Of course, I do! God knows we need a break.”

Morse nodded thoughtfully. Peter certainly deserved a break after tending to Morse hand and foot for over a month, who was Morse to deprive him? “I’ve never been on holiday.”

“What? Surely you must have.”

“I think maybe my mother and I went away for a weekend once to the coast but… other than that I haven’t.”

Jakes almost gave him a look bordering sympathetic, but Peter knew Morse enough to know that’s never what the man wanted. “Well, I’ll have to change that.”

“It would be nice to get away from it all.” Morse agreed, slowly accepting that he too needed a break. He pulled the keys out of his pocket, letting the pair into their flat.

Peter was on him as soon as they closed, putting his hands on Morse’s shoulders, holding him close. “So that’s a yes? We’ll go?”

Morse gave him a small smile, trying to hide his own childish excitement. “Yes, Peter. We’ll go on holiday.” He wasn’t sure if he’d finished his last word before Peters lips were on his with some force, knocking the air out of his lungs.

“I love you.” Peter whispered breathlessly against Morse’s lips.

Morse closed the gap again, pressing a gentle, hot kiss to Jakes’ lips. “I love you too, Peter. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ive had this chapter in my head ever since reading IlIcythings comment (all the way back from chapter 3) on actually taking Jakes to dinner, not quite a big reveal but still the perfect opportunity for fluff and domesticity to end the fic<3 hope you all enjoyed it!! 
> 
> And thats it, my longest ever work is now complete and im definitely not crying AHHH *mic drop*
> 
> thank you all so so much for taking the time to read it / leave kudos / comment it means the absolute world to me and even though I might not know you, I love you so much <3 
> 
> now the real question is... do i do a fic of them going on holiday? XD


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